Survival Is Not Mandatory
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: When the war is over, what use is a sword? An angry Elissa Cousland had been ready to die with the arch-demon, but Alistair had other plans. As they try to rebuild a post-Blight Fereldan, will they be able to heal themselves? AU, not very lore adherent, post DA:O. Complete.
1. Surviving

The arch-demon fell to her sword, twisting and groaning, and she felt a dark satisfaction as its blood ran over her. Her rage, the faithful mistress of her heart, rose again. She struck a savage death blow. It exploded underneath her. She flew through the air and landed on stone with a sickening crunch, where she waited and smiled. Its soul would look for a new host, find her, and she would end both it and herself. Elissa, scion of house Cousland and most junior Grey Warden, would be no more.

It took her a long minute to realize nothing was happening. She scrambled to her feet. Something had gone wrong. Her heart dropped when she remembered there was another vessel on the roof, another Warden. Alistair couldn't die. He was needed to rule. She hadn't been able to stop him from coming with her, forced to agree that they needed another option in case she died on the journey, but she'd insisted he leave her to the task if she survived. Alistair was essential to the future. The former Queen, Anora, was ambitious and hard, not the healer Fereldan would look for in the next era.

She wiped blood out of her eyes and looked around desperately. He lay several yards away from her, unmoving. She limped to his side quickly, fearfully. The relief she felt when he opened his eyes, eyes that were muddy but his, tightened her heart. He blinked, focused on her face. "You're alive," he whispered. His head lolled back. "It worked." He slid into unconsciousness once more.

Elissa stared down at his blood-spattered face. What had worked? Was the arch-demon out there, already finding a new darkspawn host to raise him? She looked round, half-expecting another dragon to come rising over the battlements. Instead she saw Leliana sitting up and looking her way. Happiness and pity warred on the bard's face. "What worked?" she asked, and Leliana wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead she looked to the west and made a subtle scout sign. The one they'd used to signal friendly mages in their travels.

Morrigan.

The witch had left them before Elissa woke that morning. That she'd abandoned them on the morning of battle stung but wasn't surprising. Elissa had assumed it was in anger. Anger at her for refusing the ritual Morrigan wanted done. She'd refused to even mention it to Alistair. Conceiving a child to hold the soul of an old god was bad enough. Alistair's child was worse. It would be heir to the Fereldan throne, made eligible by the same noble bastard blood that ran through him. Morrigan had protested, but the fact that she insisted on Alistair instead of Riordan betrayed her intentions. She'd proven ally throughout their travels, but she had too much of her mother in her to be trusted. So Elissa had turned her down and prepared herself to meet whatever came.

Besides, she'd been ready to die. She'd secretly rejoiced when Riordan fell, not for his loss, but because it brought her finally to the hard line she craved. There was nothing left for her to do in the world once the arch-demon was defeated. She'd brought Howe to dark justice, deposed the traitor Loghain and his daughter, and ensured Fereldan's future royal strength. Alistair would be a good king whether he believed it or not. Her family was dead, to Howe's blades or darkspawn forces, and other Wardens would come from Orleias to clean up the remaining Blight and rebuild. The constant churning of anger inside had given way to a hollow silence in the days since the Landsmeet, and she wanted to slip away into peace.

She was their leader, by their choice. She'd never expected them to subvert her will. Blind, arrogant fool she'd been.

Alistair stirred again, and she examined his face, innocent and guileless. Obviously capable of more deception than she'd realized. She should have guessed when he'd given in so easily to her demand to strike the killing blow. He always fought her on the difficult choices. But no, he spun his lies below her notice and let her walk into her own trap. The cold realization that his ability, his reign, might be even more complete than she'd thought was little comfort. In hindsight, Morrigan's actions seemed obvious, even inevitable. It was this betrayal that burned. He'd given his virginity to the witch, to save a life that had no value, and created a future challenger to his rule who was lost in the wind.

The hollow space inside of her filled with sweet fury, and she stood. She barely knew what she intended - to throw herself off the tower, perhaps - but it hardly mattered because Zevran was already there, holding her in place. He pried the sword from her and threw it behind them. His other hand gripped her with deceptive strength even while she fought and swore.

He laughed. "I'm glad you survived. The world would lack much color without you, in both word and beauty."

She twisted to look at him. "I'm not."

"I know," he said, face sobering. "But our immense joy will have to make up for your own lack." She stopped struggling, defeated. Leliana stepped towards them, reaching underneath Alistair to lift him across her shoulder. "Let's get His Majesty to his subjects. I only hope he wakes sufficiently for a pretty speech. I think your own would be decidedly sour."

* * *

><p>Alistair woke slowly, sure that he wasn't supposed to feel the inner contours of his brain with such clarity. Pain pounded in lines up and down his skull, and he felt the cooling sensation of a healer's spell washing over him. Wynne's power. He opened his mouth to crack a joke about her superior mothering capabilities, but all that came out was a weak croak. He winced at a swat on his shoulder. "Hush." A cup of water hit his lips, and he drank slowly.<p>

He swallowed and tried again. "You're not supposed to hit kings. I'm sure I saw that written down somewhere."

"Is it? My books only say that you should never criticize your healer." He opened his eyes. It was less painful than he'd feared. Wynne looked at him with the blend of maternal devotion and irritation that he liked the best. He gave her his most winning smile.

A memory flooded back. "Oh Maker, did I really make a speech on the steps of the palace?"

"Yes. Very inspiring. I'm amazed you stayed upright. Fortunately only those very close to your side saw Leliana feeding you the lines. The city was quite impressed."

He sank back into the pillow. "Oh. Good. Glad to be of service." Another thought. "Elissa? Is she okay? I saw her face after, well, after, but I don't know if it was real."

"Yes, she lives. There were casualties in the city, but all of those on the tower survived. They're calling her the Hero of Fereldan." She paused. "A service will be held for the fallen, including Riordan." He nodded absently, his mind working on different lines.

"How angry is she?"

Wynne's face was carefully neutral. "She's been barred from this room since you returned."

That sounded about right. He struggled to push himself up to a sitting position. "Send her in. Maybe my weak condition will stir her sympathy and pity." She raised her eyebrow. "Look, she has them in there somewhere. It's my only hope. Maker knows I can't actually fight her and win. Even when I'm not injured she beats me every time."

Wynne shrugged and moved to the door. Before she opened it, she turned back. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you made your choice. We all are." She left.

He rubbed his hand across his brow and waited. It had seemed so sensible at the time. A way to save everyone. They'd had enough losses. When Morrigan had come to him with her proposal, he hadn't hesitated. Well, not more than a little. An intimate act with a witch of the Wilds had never been on his bucket list, and this particular one made his skin crawl. But the sacrifice was so small for a reward so great, and he'd known it was needed.

When he'd gone to her bed, his few Templar skills fought the use of so much magic around him, and the internal battle had taken much of his mind away from the act. If anyone asked, he'd tell them that he got through it by thinking of a beautiful, loving partner, but in truth with the corralling of his power, Morrigan's skill, and his own sensitivity, it hadn't been necessary. He didn't guess she'd gotten a lot out of the experience, but he'd finished quickly. Ten minutes of time to save a life. A bargain.

Elissa would never accept it.

As though his thoughts had summoned her, the door opened. She stepped into the room. Her face was a cold mask, as it was most of the time these days. When they'd first met, he'd thought she was beautiful. She still was, but she was beautiful like a statue, hardness and smooth lines. There was no place for humanity to gain a foothold. He'd wondered if this was something that all nobles did, so he'd taken her early remoteness as a challenge at Ostagar, teasing her, trying to uncover the spark that must be inside. He'd been rewarded with a few flashes, lights in her eyes that had warmed him and spurred him on. But after the Tower, after the betrayal, he'd had no inclination to try, and she'd become the leader. Competent, inspiring, removed. Sten had approved.

"So," she said, "you lied to me."

"Very successfully. Impressed?"

"A little," she admitted. "You had no right. I'd made the choice."

"I unmade it. I do happen to be the king in these parts."

Her eyes glittered. "Not yet, Alistair. And maybe not for long, if Morrigan has her say." He was sure he looked even more confused than usual, which bit at him. She continued, "Well, you have created an heir. With the power of a god. How long do you think it will take her to use it?"

His mouth dropped open. She laughed. "Never thought of it, did you? That's the trouble, you never think. You want everyone to be happy. You're so noble. Honorable. Impossible."

"Why don't you take the crown, if you think I'll be so hopeless? You chose me for this, you know." She didn't answer. "If you thought I would sit back and let you die when I could stop it, no matter the consequence, you're extremely silly. This land would wither without its Hero."

She glared, and he smiled in spite of himself. "I heard."

"This land has no need of me anymore," she said. "I was a weapon, forged by Duncan, and I was a good one. I cut through everything in our path. But when the war is over, what use is a sword? It was my right to choose my end."

"I can't do this without you." He sat forward, deadly earnest. "You know how this all works. I don't. I'll want to do good, but I won't know how."

"You'll have to learn," she answered. "I'm leaving after the coronation, try to find myself a purpose. Whatever that might be."

His heart dropped. "You can't." When she raised her head in challenge, he put command behind his voice, the sort he'd always heard from her. "You can't. As your king, your ruler, I forbid it."

She stepped towards him with fists clenched. Her eyes were no longer cold but held promises of violence. He tried not to be afraid. "You're my subject, or you will be after the ceremony. You have to obey me. Stay here."

"To do what, sit around the court like some decoration? Like a pet?" she snarled. "If I have to continue this worthless life, I'll at least be of use."

"You'll serve on my advisory council."

"What advisory council?"

"The one I just made up. But I'll need one, you know that's true." Her hands tightened further, but she didn't argue. Her face was so pained. He couldn't stop himself from speaking. "Your life isn't worthless, you know. It's worth more than mine will ever be."

It was the wrong thing to say. She spun on her heel without another word and yanked open the door. Zevran and Leliana stood on the other side, one grinning, the other impassive. She shoved past them, muttering. Zevran's eyes followed her path down the hall. "Ah, Alistair, you have kinging down to an art. You'll never woo a woman this way, but your court will be exquisitely staffed." He sketched a lazy salute and sauntered away.

Leliana crossed her arms. He smiled at her ruefully. "So much for trying to make her pity me in my ill health."

"Oh I don't know. She never actually struck you." She shook her head. "You two always did fight like cats and dogs."

He nodded as she shut the door. Wynne had compared their bickering to two young siblings. He didn't know what that would be like - his own sister was less bickering than outright aggressive - but he couldn't deny that other brothers he knew seemed to be harassed by their sisters frequently. He wasn't sure any of them would have survived Elissa as a sibling and wondered how her brother had tolerated it. Alistair certainly wasn't any good at it.

He settled back to rest and flushed at another memory. Lying with Morrigan, nearing the end of the ritual. He'd found his release unexpectedly and mercifully briefly, but as he'd cried out a face had slid into his mind. Elissa's dark, demanding eyes, auburn hair curled loosely around her shoulders, expression no longer cold but passionate and alive.

So maybe not quite a sister then.


	2. Suceeding

Only three weeks later, she was ready to scream. Memorials, ceremonies, and pomp and circumstance followed everywhere she went. She was starting to feel like a life-size doll, trotted out to bolster the spirits of whomever needed it most. The one comfort was that as a military hero she'd been allowed to wear her armor, rather than being forced into gowns and jewels. At least she felt powerful, even though she did nothing.

Truthfully, she had to admit that the events themselves didn't bother her as much as she pretended. Being out in the city for formal occasions made her itch, wanting to help, wanting action, but she also wanted to honor the people who'd fallen. The people she'd failed to protect. They still didn't know the names of all of the dead, and even some they knew were gone had not been found. Riordan's body hadn't been recovered, at least not recognizably, so they'd lit a torch for him and honored that instead. She'd barely been able to raise her hand to her chest in salute, so heavy was her guilt. She remembered the flash of pleasure she'd felt as he'd fell, underneath the horror. It ate at her. Zevran had placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort, but she could take little from him.

When they'd returned to the castle, Alistair had enveloped her in a wordless hug. She'd been weak for needing it, but she borrowed from his strength without question. She'd felt a small flash of gratitude when he'd walked away silently after. No fighting. A tiny grace for them both.

No, the ceremonies weren't the problem. It was this castle, biting at her, pressing her in. While its walls were nothing like those of Highever, nor its people, the feeling of it made her ache. It made her think of a young, happy girl running through safe halls. Had she ever been that light? Had she ever really thought the world was that simple? And now she stared at a wardrobe full of sumptuous gowns. It really was like being home. Leliana had made it clear that armor wouldn't be enough for the coronation, and instinct told her that it wouldn't be wise to push the Orlesian on the issue. She wasn't only running the informational networks with ruthless efficiency, but she'd thrown herself into party execution with the same gusto.

She ran a finger over an emerald green gown and curled her lip. She knew it would fit, thanks to Leliana's efficiency, and she knew it would look good, thanks to her mother. This shade had been one of her personal favorites, and they shared the same coloring. At one time she would have worn this with delight, flirting and tempting some young lordling into bed. She'd played with lives and hearts with impunity, as if they didn't matter. Now that she knew the true cost of life, she hated that capricious girl more than anything. Another piece of her that Duncan had burned off and made better.

Dairren's body whispered into her mind. Not the living one that had lain under her, the last man she'd ever had, but the dead one sprawled across the floor. Howe's men had killed him mercilessly, and he'd died without honor. The first debit on her ledger, but not the last. But maybe the most important. A symbol of what could go wrong if she let herself slip into that frivolous role again.

She pushed the green dress aside and selected another, one of pale blue. It would wash her out, but what she liked was the low neckline. It should show off her scars very nicely.

* * *

><p>She found Alistair shuffling down the hall. He tugged on his formalwear in discomfort, and she hid a smile. "Why does this bloody thing have to have a sash on it, anyway?" he mumbled as he walked. He'd nearly run into her before he stopped short. He gaped, and she remembered that he'd never seen her outside of armor or camp clothes before. He didn't know the shallow life she'd used to lead with such vigor. She felt a little sad, like something was ending. She shook herself.<p>

"Leliana got to you, too?" she asked.

He wrinkled his nose and nodded. "She didn't exactly threaten me, but it was the next closest thing. I'm glad she was never in my Chantry. The sisters there were scary enough without weapons training."

She laughed politely. He cleared his throat. "I think you fared a little better, anyway," he said. "At least your gown has only one piece. You wouldn't believe how many articles of clothing I have on."

Introducing him to the complicated concept of women's undergarments seemed like a poor idea. She settled for saying, "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen how long it took the maid to get my hair into these braids."

He squinted at her head, and she realized he hadn't even noticed it was different. She'd spent time with so many men who'd affected obliviousness as a social game, she found his true confusion almost charming. "Oh. Well, it looks nice. Unlike this." He pulled again at his tunic.

"I think they chose pretty well, under the circumstances. Though you definitely look better in your armor." She could have slapped herself, even more for the slightly flirtatious tone she'd suddenly acquired. His ears reddened, and he mumbled something unintelligible. His face changed briefly into Dairren's when he turned aside, and she cursed her own bad habits. Dresses were clearly dangerous territory for her. She summoned up what scraps of warrior she could and deliberately cooled her voice. "I should get to the ceremony. I suppose I can't be late if you're still here, but I don't want to chance it."

He frowned, and she pushed down guilt. It was his fault she was standing here in a dress she didn't want, in a life she didn't want, and she wouldn't apologize for being rude. She dropped a curtsy and turned down the hall, holding onto the anger as best she could.

* * *

><p>Alistair watched her leave, hopelessly confused. As usual. The Tale of the Befuddled King, that was the book they'd write about him. The last weeks had been agony after agony of missed protocols, etiquette mistakes, and diplomatic embarrassments. Elissa and Leliana had watched him through it all, giving him marks in their minds, and he was well aware he was failing every possible test. At least Leliana was mostly kind. He and Elissa could barely make it through a polite greeting these days. His frustration with her was just as great as hers with him. Why the woman was so anxious to throw away her life he'd never understand. This conversation was the longest they'd gone without a complete blowout since he'd ordered her to stay in Denerim. Even that hadn't lasted.<p>

He hadn't even told her he liked her dress.

A messenger rushed up, bowing and bobbing but clearly in a hurry. Right. Coronation. Signing away his life to this torture. He sighed heavily and waved away the man's apologies. "It's fine, I'm ready. Completely ready. Remind me of my lines again?"

* * *

><p>He remained, he thought, impressively solemn during a ritual that stretched out interminably. He'd floated the idea of shortening it, taking out some of the less important bits, but Arl Eamon had been scandalized at the thought of changing a single word. So they went through the whole thing, painful minute by painful minute. He caught himself adjusting his sash once, but a scorching look from Leliana was enough to settle his hands. Probably for the next week.<p>

Elissa kept him occupied. She sat directly in his sightline, and her beauty was blinding, as long as he didn't allow himself to notice the ice in her eyes. He memorized the lines of her gown while he mechanically responded to the Reverend Mother's speeches. When he'd finished that, he traced the scars on her chest and shoulders and relived every battle they'd come from. Every time she'd almost died. His resolve hardened. The one good part of this crown was that he could keep her alive. Keep them all alive.

After they finally settled it on his head, he stood to make his favors known. His council had deliberated for hours about the recipients, and he went down the list faithfully. All his comrades, even the Qunari, got a mention. When he asked Elissa to name her reward, she responded with the request that the Howe estate to be turned over to the Grey Wardens as they'd agreed. He acceded, then added impulsively, "And I also swear to recover the lands of Highever for you and your family. They've been occupied too long."

Her eyes widened, but he couldn't read the message in them. When Zevran frowned, he remembered she had no family left. Of course. Another brilliant kingly move for the books.

At the end of his speech, the guests lined up to talk to him, and his Council moved to the back of the room. He saw them talking and wished with all his heart he could join them. Instead he stood on the dais and shook hand after hand, trying to be charming and polite and diplomatic and strong and wise all at the same time. He probably just seemed constipated. Luckily, if he did, no one was allowed to comment on it.

After he'd extricated himself from a very determined old lady who probably had more noble blood in her prominent nose than in his entire body, he fled to a corner where his uncle, Bann Teagan, was chatting softly with Zevran. "Thank the Maker for male company. Why did Leliana invite so many blasted women to this thing?" He looked around to make sure no one could hear him.

Zevran chuckled, and Teagan shook his head. "Your Majesty, surely you realize that they mostly invited themselves. There is the question of your succession to consider."

His blood ran cold. "My… succession? Oh no."

"You're the most eligible man in Fereldan! Though not the most attractive, which is of course an honor reserved for myself," said Zevran. "Fortunately my partners prefer me to remain unattached."

Teagan smiled sympathetically. "My brother will be bringing you a list of suitable women any day now, I fear. He was always very impatient with Cailan's lack of issue."

"Enjoy it, Alistair! All those lovely ladies, dainty, perfumed and waiting to be ravished. To tell you the truth, I'm rather envious of you, my friend." Zevran grinned. "Speaking of, there is a certain beautiful Warden desperately in need of my company." He drifted away.

Alistair scowled as he watched the elf make a low bow to Elissa. Within seconds he had her laughing, and she fluttered her hand in front of her face in mock flirtation. Her eyes sparkled with more than eagerness for battle for the first time in ages. She looked in her element, like a layer of herself was being uncovered, even with her scars and muscles showing her level of training. He wondered if this was what she'd been like before the Blight and thought uncomfortably that he was badly outclassed if so. He could barely meet her as a warrior. Leliana, too, danced through the room as gracefully as she fought. He was cursed with charming friends.

He turned back to his uncle. "Eamon does realize that I may not be able to have a succession? Grey Wardens are a bit unknown in that way." Without an apostate's spooky magic, anyway.

"He won't let it be for lack of trying from you."

"Great. Can't wait for that discussion." He stamped out hopes he'd barely known he had. If one Grey Warden was unlikely to produce a child, two had no chance. And that was assuming they could tolerate each other long enough to try.


	3. Surprising

The Council convened a week later. Arl Eamon was leaving, returning to his estate in Redcliffe, and he wanted to meet one last time before he left Teagan as his representative. He was already in the outer chamber when she arrived, along with his brother. Zevran, Leliana, Wynne and a few military captains and diplomatic envoys milled around in quiet conversation. Oghren's dwarven representative, approved by King Bhelen, looked uncomfortable in the corner as usual.

The Arl caught her eye, and she sighed inwardly as she walked towards him. When he wanted to speak to her, it was never a good sign. They'd never acknowledged it openly, but he hated her, understandably, for the choices she'd made about his life even while she saved it. She didn't expect him to approve, but he seemed to expect her to apologize, and she felt no responsibility to do any such thing. She'd done what was needed. The fact that her actions had caused the first major rift between her and Alistair didn't help her tolerate the Arl's continued disdain any more gracefully. If he'd instilled a little more pragmatism and a little less nobility into his ward, things might have gone more smoothly for everyone.

He began with no preamble. "Lady, I leave tomorrow. In my absence, I trust you and Teagan to keep the King in line. While your opinions are not always correct, I believe you have the best interests of this kingdom at heart, as your father did before you. Moreover, you have a level of influence over him that you must use."

She raised an eyebrow. "My lord, even if this influence existed, I wouldn't use it to manipulate my sovereign. The King is ruling well."

"Alistair is an idealist. He makes choices for the smaller good without seeing the larger picture. You and I both know this is dangerous. You cannot allow him to unbalance all of Fereldan to help a few." She pressed her lips together, unable to disagree but unwilling to grant his point. The Arl leaned closer, social mask dropping. "I know you understand how to make choices that harm the few. I never forget you killed my wife."

If he expected to intimidate her, he understood nothing. "I'll tell you what I told Alistair. Your wife demanded it. I know what it is to stare into the eyes of a mother who wants to die to save her child. She never would have forgiven you had she lived and Connor died. You'd already lost her, you just didn't know it." Howe's voice echoed in her head, taunting her with his last cruelties to her parents. "Her death was clean and swift. I was kinder to her than I was to my own mother."

Alistair swept into the room in a cloud of assistants, and they followed him into the inner chamber.

* * *

><p>After the routine reports and updates had been given and the usual decisions made, the diplomats and captains filed out of the room, leaving only the core Council remaining. Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, Zevran, Eamon, Teagan, and her. Personally, she'd have traded Eamon for Sten any day.<p>

Alistair spoke first. Leliana jotted notes as he spoke. His confidence had grown immensely since the coronation. "I've received information from the Orlesian Wardens that they found some of our troops deep in the Wilds. They'd escaped Ostagar and were fighting darkspawn and surviving off the land. Their casualties were heavy, but a few remain." He grinned at her like a little boy with a treasure. "One of them says his name is Fergus Cousland."

"Fergus is alive?" she whispered. She closed her eyes against the hope. When she opened them again, the King's face was no less pleased, but it was older and more mature in its joy. He nodded, and she felt a stirring in her chest that worried her. It was hard to remember how he'd tricked her, hard to remember her own feelings, when he looked at her that way.

Eamon clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Having the rightful Teyrn back at Highever will stabilize much of the region."

"I'm so glad you agree," said Alistair. "Because I think it's time to retake Highever from the Howes."

Leliana nodded. "Nathaniel Howe fled Amaranthine immediately after his father's death. This made it easy to take that holding and provided the Wardens with several new conscripts they needed in their new home. His brother, Thomas, has proven less eager to remove himself from his position."

"Exactly. So, I propose Elissa leads our forces to retake her home. She knows the grounds and the tactics better than anyone." She smiled in anticipation. To fight again would be heaven. To fight against the soldiers who'd destroyed her life? Beyond compare. "I've already sent word for Fergus to meet us there. I, of course, will join the charge personally."

She and the Arl both sat forward. "Out of the question," he said. "Your place is in Denerim, ruling, not out playing at soldiers."

"Cailan played at soldiers. I fight battles on the behalf of my subjects. And when the Lady Cousland is there, we win them in very decisive ways, in case you forgot."

"You're king," she said, exasperated. "You can't risk your life for a castle, no matter whose it is."

He grinned. "That's right, I am! That means I get to make the decisions. Yes, that's what I remember anyway. Leliana, write that down."

"Don't write that down!" she snapped. Leliana smiled and scratched her pen across the paper. Zevran and Wynne tried and failed to hide their amusement.

"Excellent. Please coordinate with Captain Alvin and produce a plan of attack. I expect to leave at the end of the week." She seethed. The traitorous fluttering of her heart had died a quick death, at least. She looked to Eamon, half for support, half to question his assessment that she had any influence to spend. He seemed resigned to the King's decision, which surprised her. He must have something else difficult to try to force through.

Indeed, he changed topics. "Your Majesty, there is one other matter we need to discuss before I depart. You rule now, but you also rule for the future. You must have a wife, and children, to ensure that future." Alistair's brow knit forebodingly, but the Arl continued. "I've prepared a list of eligible ladies for consideration. Of course you must take some time, but I suggest you consider quickly."

Copies of the list made their way around the table. She looked at hers with interest. Some of the names were stuffy, obvious choices. Others were ludicrous, especially for someone as irreverent as the current ruler. But some could be useful. Her eyes met Leliana's across the table, and she nodded very slightly. They would prune the list accordingly.

Zevran's voice cut through her concentration. "Excuse me, Arl, it looks like there's been an omission. The Lady Elissa Cousland of Highever makes no appearance on your list. An oversight, I'm sure." He ignored Eamon's frosty glare and settled back in his seat. "She's eminently eligible as the daughter of one of your most noble houses and second in line to its holdings."

Her stomach knotted. To be married to a king. Never escaping the fineries or parties, slipping back into that hateful old world. She pushed aside memories of the rare times she'd enjoyed the company of this particular sovereign and gritted her teeth. "Grey Wardens hold no lands or titles, as you know." Zevran gestured mildly at Alistair. "That was an exception for circumstance!"

"No, I agree with Zevran, it's a strong possibility," said Leliana, adding her name to the sheet. "We must stay open to everything."

Alistair never looked at her. "I also agree." Eamon looked ready to explode. She stood quickly.

"I think this discussion will go better if I'm not in the room. Please excuse me." She left without waiting.

* * *

><p>Alistair exited the chamber with a headache. For every argument for her - bloodlines, social training, beloved by the people and trusted by themselves - there'd been arguments against. The commoners' and nobles' fear of a Grey Warden dynasty. Complications with producing children. The possibility they wouldn't make it through a ceremony without a fight. He'd stayed silent while they'd debated until he couldn't stand it anymore. Neither side left pleased, but he'd smoothed things over with Eamon by promising to think about what he'd said, on all counts.<p>

Never mind that he knew exactly what he wanted. He'd come to terms with it since the coronation. The idea of marriage had always terrified him. His isolated childhood and Templar training had left him even less equipped for it than most men. Joining the Wardens had been sweet relief, an escape from a future that he could never dream of wanting. Even now the idea of wedding some delicate Fereldan noblewoman was enough to give him nightmares. But marriage to Elissa, so strong and unyielding. She infuriated him. But she was the only woman he trusted enough to protect him from his own wife. And truthfully, he wanted to have her in his life that way. In his bed. He stopped himself. That thought was terrifying in an entirely different way. If only he knew what she really thought of the idea. Her reaction in the room hadn't been encouraging.

He found her pacing an enclosed garden near her rooms. He watched her angry movements, the way she drove furrows into the earth when she pivoted on her heels. Definitely not encouraging.

She sensed him outside, a side effect of the darkspawn taint that lived in both of them, and gestured him in. She stopped moving and folded her arms. "So, was I approved as acceptable royal breeding stock or not?" He winced.

"I adjourned the fight, I mean meeting, still undecided. My ears can only take so much polite yelling. Made me miss the screams of huroks." She didn't smile. He rubbed the back of his head. "Look, you know that no matter what, it would be your decision. There are plenty of other candidates, apparently. I have the list to prove it. I'd never make you do something you didn't want to do."

Her eyes glazed, and he realized, too late, that he'd brought them back to the exact topic he'd been trying to avoid with her for weeks. Her words came like wind across a frozen lake. "Oh yes, I've noticed the tremendous freedoms you allow me now. And noblewomen always have so much say in their lives when it comes to wifely duties. Tell me, did you plan that act in there with Zevran?" The last with a whip crack he didn't expect.

"No. What? No. There was no act. I didn't even know what Eamon was going to say," he said defensively.

She barely listened. "Did you keep me alive for this? To acquire me as a wife?"

"It's not like that," he said, not sure how to explain. Acquire her? No, of course not. But to keep her here, with him, with the realm? Without question. "I wanted to save you."

She nodded, eyes hot with disgust. "Would you have slept with Morrigan to save Oghren? Sten?" She snorted. "Boys and their cocks."

His temper snapped its leash, and he advanced towards her. He must have looked like thunder because she took a long step back. "Of course I would have done it for them. I'd have done it for a total stranger. I'd have done it for the damn dog. You think I value sex over a life?" She stepped back again and ran into the wall. He continued his approach, stopping only when he could press both hands to the stones to either side of her and lean down to speak in furious tones. "Even I'm not so rosy-eyed as that, Elissa."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean -" she began, but he cut her off with a laugh. It wasn't a nice sound.

"I'm sure you did. It's always the same now. You only see yourself. Your needs. Everything we do that you don't approve of must be about you, to hurt you. You want to leave us, so it's time for us all to fall in line with your wishes. I remember a woman I traveled with who made choices that benefited others even when they hurt her. She fought me on every single one of them. She was brave and brilliant and never gave in. Did you use up all your empathy in the Blight? Or am I exempt from your help?" Every frustration he'd been holding in tumbled out illogically. Maker but she aggravated him.

She looked surprised instead of angry. "You don't need my help, Alistair. You're doing an excellent job." He was thrown and could only stare. She added, "You shouldn't take it as criticism when I challenge you. It's what advisors are supposed to do, to make sure you understand your own decisions. If I agreed with everything you said, I wouldn't be useful."

"Then I do need you. To challenge me. And to tell me all of these things I'll never, ever figure out on my own."

"That's less true than you pretend. And I didn't hide Morrigan's choice from you because I wanted to leave you behind. I didn't want your first time to be… spoiled. I knew how important it was to you. It didn't seem worth it, with all the other risks, just to keep me around. My time seemed over. Sometimes it still does."

He sighed and relaxed a little, though adrenaline still coursed through him. He was suddenly aware of how close he was to her, close enough to hear her breathing. He flushed and swallowed hard, but didn't pull away. "Well, I appreciate the thought, no matter how completely out of proportion and ridiculous it was. There will always be a time for you in Fereldan. Never doubt that." Some insane courage gripped him, and he continued. "It's true that I would have gone to Morrigan for any life. As a Grey Warden, I swore to protect. But I would have swung the blow to kill the arch-demon in the place of only one person."

He leaned closer, putting his mouth to her ear. "I wouldn't have done it for Riordan, or any of my other Warden brethren. I loved them dearly. But you are the only one worth giving my life for."

She reddened beneath him as a blush crawled up her cheeks. When he pushed himself back and away, she gazed at him without flinching. Her eyes were still cool, unreadable, but he was richly satisfied to see a spark burning deep inside them. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her gently, touching nothing but her mouth. She quietly responded, setting his nerves aflame, and he wondered where to go from here.

A cough came from behind him. He broke away and turned slightly. Teagan's voice held a note of apology. "Your Highness, there are several nobles from Orleias waiting to see you."

The delegation. Right. Extremely important and probably in their most hideous masks. It was somewhat of a relief, solving the problem of his own inexperience for him. "Duty calls." She nodded, expressionless. He stepped away and left her to the garden, wondering if he'd just proposed. And if she'd accepted.


	4. Surrendering

They traveled to Highever with three companies of the Fereldan guard. Small groups continually broke off as they traveled, stopping to scout damaged areas, help what citizens they could, and repress bandit activity. While the citizens were better off without the darkspawn, the human kind of monsters still existed in large numbers. She took whatever opportunities she could to fight alongside, wanting to hone and refresh her battle skills. While she trained daily in the castle yards, nothing beat the experience of dueling with someone who really wanted to kill you, and she felt herself returning to form slowly over the journey.

Plus when she followed them into battle, Alistair remained behind, and she could avoid him much more easily.

They'd barely talked since the day in the garden, and they'd never been alone together. This was partially through circumstance - they were both busy, constantly surrounded by people - but it was partially by design. Her design. She wasn't ready to confront any of what had happened between them, not because she was afraid, but because she had no answers to give to the questions he would ask. She laid awake each night arguing with herself. That she was attracted to him wasn't in doubt. She watched him move through the men at the front of the columns, handling a horse like he'd been born to it though they scared him witless. Even from this distance he was handsome. He'd done little more than test the waters, a phase she'd moved past with the kitchen boys well before she'd been allowed to speak to a noble son, but she still wondered what might have come next.

She countered herself, arguing it had been so long since she'd been with someone that any man would be able to elicit the same reaction. In her heart, she knew that wasn't true. Something about his shyness, the way he didn't push, was captivating in its unfamiliarity. He was the most powerful man in the kingdom, and he hadn't demanded anything from her.

Well, nothing in a sexual sense. He ordered her around plenty when he had a mind to do it. She never forgot that even if she wanted to leave, she couldn't, by his command. Was that worse, or better, than sexual pressure? He'd shown by his lecture that his anger at her ran deep, for all it wasn't always visible, and wouldn't be easily dismissed. Her own cultivated anger was no more controllable. And, despite this field trip, his life wouldn't be war and battle, but parties and peace. That wasn't a role she wanted to play, though other women would relish it. They would be better political partners for him than she would. She tried not to think about the other kind of partnership that would go along with it.

If he'd be willing to try the physical without the extra pressure of the future, it would be easier, but he wouldn't. She'd seen in traveling with him that he joked constantly to pull attention away from the fact that he took so many things seriously. It was one of the things that had made them fight well together, beside or against each other. No, he would want something more. So she was no closer to a decision, and no closer to wanting to talk about it.

Leliana rode with her on the last leg of their journey and gave her polite hell. "You're being quite cruel to him, you know. He's very handsome and royal up there, but his eyes are just like a lost puppy's."

She growled. "That's not my fault. We haven't had a chance to talk." Leliana rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"I said nothing, Lady Cousland."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Our Lord King decreed that your title be restored to you immediately. I simply follow the correct protocol when addressing a lady of higher rank."

"Now you can definitely shut up."

Leliana eyed her. "What bothers you so much about being noble? You're very good at it. Not just the parts where you're well-behaved, but the parts where you know how and when to stop behaving. I was impressed with your performance at the coronation."

"It's not something I want to be good at anymore." She paused as her horse navigated around a hole in the road. "Lady Elissa Cousland died with her family. The Hero of Fereldan doesn't play noble games."

"Not all her family. Your brother lives." She flinched. "You're not happy?"

"I was. I am. I'm glad he survived. But his family died in my care." She forced her voice to stay steady. "If he'd been there, everything might have been different. He was always stronger than me, better. He kept his men alive for months in a place swarming with darkspawn. Howe's men would have fallen to him."

"You think he'll blame you." She nodded. "Elissa, you're not to blame. I don't know your brother, but if he's anything like you, he would be the last to lay fault at the feet of someone who doesn't deserve it. Honorable people don't."

She hoped the bard was right. She didn't doubt her brother's honor, but she'd survived where his wife and son didn't. That wasn't easy to forgive. Maker knew she'd never forgive herself for it. The night after their escape, she and Duncan had made camp in a remote corner of Highever, in a clearing that provided both vantage points and cover. He'd taken first watch, and during her later one she'd sat unmoving, the faces of the dead her only company. She'd almost killed Duncan that night. Knowing what she knew about Grey Wardens now, she doubted he'd slept as deeply as he'd appeared to, but at the time he'd seemed so vulnerable. The man who'd made her leave her parents to die, for his cause. As if any cause could be that important.

Of course, he'd made the right choice. Short-sighted and immature, she'd needed the awakening he'd given her, the demonstration that hardness and cruelty were not the same. She was glad she'd done nothing more than leave a memorial for the dead in the clearing. She hoped she could go back and leave one for him as well once they'd retaken her home.

The columns slowed in front of them, and she saw Alistair signaling that they were close. She started to spur her mount around, to move to the front, but Leliana restrained her. "You speak as though you're two people. You aren't. You're both lady and hero. And if you don't believe me, watch his face when you're near. He cares for them both."

* * *

><p>They left their mounts behind in the care of their grooms. She'd sent most of the soldiers around to flank the main castle, sending them through the fields around the estate proper. They had marks of passage, Cousland-stamped, that she hoped would make her people give them aid or at least no resistance. A small force stayed with her, including Leliana, Alistair, Zevran and Fergus.<p>

Their reunion had been all too brief, but her heart was lighter for it. He'd ruffled her hair and called her little sister, even if they both looked much older than their years now. Their grief had been a physical thing, but one that they could finally share in a space made only for them. He knew what had happened, but he hadn't blamed her. And when she called for the advance to the castle gates, she knew her eyes reflected the same hardness she saw in his.

To her surprise, when they reached the keep, the gates were open and manned by only two guards. She slowed, confused, as another guard walked through them. No, not a guard. He didn't walk with their swinging gait, moving instead like a man used to command. He carried no weapon and approached with hands open at his sides. She narrowed her eyes as she saw the ring on his finger. Fergus swore next to her, confirming her suspicions. "Thomas Howe." Leliana covered him with her bow, and Zevran reached behind his back to grip a dagger.

His steps never faltered. He stopped ten feet from them and knelt. "My King. Teyrn Cousland. Lady Cousland." His voice was high and clear, like a boy's, and she remembered with shock that he was two years younger than her. "I hereby surrender Highever and all her grounds to your keeping and submit myself to your justice. It's yours by right. I ask that you not harm any of my people. They are good men who have followed orders faithfully. They won't fight you."

Silence.

* * *

><p>Alistair had never been at more of a loss. The one comfort was that the rest of the party seemed equally as confused for once. He wondered if he should accept the surrender. Was there a special speech for that?<p>

While he was thinking, Fergus snarled. "Your men killed my wife and son, you piece of hound shit. They won't escape their punishment."

Thomas looked up. "I executed the men responsible for the slaughter personally, Teyrn, after I took command of this place from my father. They were not my men. Their savagery was unforgivable, and you may rest assured they've been suitably punished."

Elissa stepped forward. Alistair noticed with slight irritation that she stepped in such a way that she would be in the sightlines of any archers who might be aiming at them, shielding him in particular. He made a note to berate her whenever she decided to start talking to him again. "Why haven't you left this place, if you believe it's ours by right?" she asked in a bland voice. "Your father died long ago."

"Yes, my lady. I grieved to hear of his death." Thomas bowed his head. "If you survived the Blight, I knew you would return to Highever to claim it. If you didn't, I couldn't leave your people unprotected. Without my men in residence, bandits or worse would have come for them. They'd been entrusted to my care."

"If you heard of your father's death, you know it was at my hands. Why should we trust this surrender?"

The boy, for that was all he was, spoke quietly. "I loved my father, but he was not a perfect man. I lived in this place, rebuilt it, and I saw what was done to it and its citizens in the name of his ambition. Loving is not the same as forgiving. He, too, was suitably punished." He took a deep breath. "But if you like, take me as hostage. Walk me into each room first, in case of traps. My life is yours. I don't expect your trust."

Fergus moved forward and prodded the boy with his sword. He rose and walked back towards the castle, step still measured and calm. Alistair admired his bravery and, in spite of himself, trusted Thomas for it. When they all stepped through the gates, they found his men arrayed in formation, weaponless. The party started to relax until shouts came from the hall. A group of armed men appeared at its entrance.

"You dumb brat," said their leader. "Your surrender will get us all killed. You think they'll show mercy? But noble hostages, there's a mercy enough for any man. You," he said, pointing at Fergus, "surrender to us, and we'll go easy on your women. Fight, and you won't know how hard they'll take us."

Zevran's dagger caught him in the throat and pandemonium broke loose. Alistair noted that the unarmed guards raced in front of Thomas and knocked him over, shielding him from the attackers. He and Elissa rushed the bottleneck of the hall doors, keeping the men in front of them trapped. She shouted back to cover the outer doors, and Fergus ran around one corner while Zevran took the other, both trailed by troops. Leliana's arrows whistled past them at dizzying speeds. His own sword flashed even faster as Elissa settled into a familiar rhythm next to him. By the time Zevran and Fergus came up behind the men, there was little left to do but clean up.

Alistair sheathed his sword and looked down at the nameless, dying leader. "That really was very stupid of you." Leliana's final arrow pinned the man to the floor, and he turned back to Thomas and his men. They looked afraid but didn't attack. Thomas struggled to stand.

"My lord, I mean my King, I swear they acted alone. They were the last of my father's men. Please don't hold the rest of them responsible. It was my failure."

"Calm down. Stop trying to throw yourself on a sword that's not there. Maker's Breath but you nobles are self-defeating. I see where you get it," he said to Elissa, "all this sacrifice for the greater good nonsense."

"It's only nonsense to the ignorant."

"Which I certainly am and hope to always be. Thomas Howe, I accept your surrender of Highever and her lands. I take you into custody as a prisoner of the Crown, to face judgment in Denerim for your crimes and your family's. Your men will be taken as well, to determine the extent of their complicity, but left unharmed. This I swear by the Theirin name and by all my ancestors, including the ones on the side of the blanket we don't acknowledge." He turned to Leliana as his guards moved to follow his instructions. "There, did I do that right? I felt like a bit of an idiot."

She sighed. "You did very well up until the end, Your Majesty. As usual."

* * *

><p>They searched Highever carefully and found no traps. The halls still showed signs of battle but had been cleaned and repaired as much as possible. The residents seemed wary but mostly unharmed. All of them were overjoyed to see Fergus and Elissa. Fergus was able to respond more easily, already settling into his role as ruler, though he still looked around as if expecting to see his father take over at any moment. Elissa's smiles held more back. He saw her look at seemingly unremarkable spaces on the floor and wondered if she was seeing memories of the dead. When they reached the kitchen with its secret passage, she went no further and retreated into herself. He wanted to go to her, despite what was unsettled between them, to try to coax some life back into her eyes. He saw by her face no one would be welcome. She was at her most statue-like.<p>

She chilled again when they reached the family wing, and he insisted that soldiers sweep it before allowing her and Fergus to enter alone. She protested, but he wouldn't take chances with her life. It was pronounced clear, and they waited outside as the siblings entered. Alistair paced uselessly and annoyed Zevran. After some time, Fergus emerged with red eyes. He tried to smile. "It's okay. It all looks… quite normal. Nothing of theirs is left, really. It's as though they were never there. Please enter if you wish." He walked away. Alistair saw a ribbon clenched in his fist.

The group showed no inclination to enter, but Elissa was still inside, alone, and he didn't hesitate. He wandered through the empty halls and rooms, looking for her. At last he found her sitting on a bed in a side room, dry-eyed. She made no objection when he sat next to her, which worried him. He waited quietly, wondering if she knew he was there. Eventually she spoke. "This was my room."

He stayed silent.

She pointed to the floor. "A man died there. He tried to protect me from Howe's soldiers. He had no weapons, no fighting skills. He was a fool. He died quickly." Shadows in her eyes. "My mabari ripped one of the men's throats out. I knifed another in the gut with the dagger from my nightstand. He died slowly." Triumph on her face. "He was my first kill."

"It wasn't your fault," he said. "Any of it."

"I know," she said. "I should have stopped it anyway." She laughed suddenly, wildly. "I was almost betrothed to Thomas Howe. His father talked to me about it just that afternoon. I dismissed him. I flirted with Duncan instead, right in front of him. I wonder, if I'd accepted the offer, would they still have attacked?"

"Yes."

She looked at him for the first time. "You're probably right." She stood. "There's nothing here for me. Fergus is welcome to it."

She walked out. He remained, looking at his hands. It would have been easier if she'd cried.


	5. Suspending

They spent several days in Highever, checking the outlying grounds for any dangers before leaving. She laid her memorial for Duncan in the secluded clearing. Alistair came with her, alone, though they said little. When they turned to leave she asked impulsively, "Do you feel like it was easier, during the Blight? Only thinking about the next battle, never the last one?"

His face was grave. "For us? Probably. For the country?" He shrugged, and she felt horribly selfish. He must have seen it. His expression lightened, and he reached over to touch her shoulder. "Homecomings are hard no matter what. Redcliffe almost killed me. Literally."

* * *

><p>She spent a lot of her time roaming through the estate looking for familiar faces. Not only did she want to reassure herself of their survival, but she was curious about Thomas Howe. She knew Alistair trusted him, at least enough to take as prisoner, but Alistair trusted everyone. She knew better. If there was going to be a knife in someone's back, it wouldn't be his.<p>

All the Cousland guard were gone, lost in the fighting, but some of the stablemen remained, as well as the servants. Cook hadn't survived, with her acrid tongue, but other kitchen staff had shut up and served. She wondered if they even cared who ruled Highever, though they seemed pleased enough to see her. They all told her the same things, that the initial occupation had been brutal, deadly and horrifying, but once Thomas took over things had improved. He'd disciplined fairly, including his own men, and many of the Arl's original force hadn't remained long. She probed their responses, looking for fear or lies, but couldn't detect anything. Maybe Howe really had raised a child who wasn't a bastard.

One elven maid had come to her room at night - a room far away from the family wing - and asked to speak to her. When she motioned her to sit, the elf declined, trembling. "Lady, you were always kind to the Elvhen despite our status. I know you've been asking about the master. I mean, Lord Howe. Forgive me, but he is a good man. He does not deserve punishment."

She raised her eyebrow. "The King will decide that. But please, if you have information, tell me. I'll make sure it's known."

"There was another girl, a servant. We were close. There were soldiers here. They demanded many things of her. It was hard." Elissa kept her face neutral. She knew from the elf's expression that the friend was an invention for things that couldn't be faced. "When the master came to the castle, he found out about these things. Lady, he killed the men responsible, and he declared all of us should be safe from harm. Even the Elvhen. It was so. Please, help him."

She was impressed. Either he was a very skilled manipulator of loyalty, or he was not only a non-bastard but progressive as well. She dismissed the elf with her promise that she would take the story to the King and tried to decide which man he might be until she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Fergus sparred with her daily in the courtyard. It was a slice of home she'd deeply missed. His older status and greater strength meant she'd rarely beaten him, but it hadn't stopped her from trying whenever he'd indulged her as a child. Now, though, she was the stronger of them, quicker to react. She knew it was the tainted blood filling her that gave her the edge, but she couldn't resist a flicker of pride every time she snaked her practice sword through his guard to strike a killing blow.<p>

For his part, he was magnanimous. "I see my little sister has surpassed me in both talent and looks," he said after their last match. "Luckily she'll never be so grown that I can't muss her hair." He suited action to words, and she gave him a mock glare.

He laughed. "Come now, Elissa, you have to leave me something. If I can't beat you in combat, where else will I find an advantage?"

Alistair grunted beside them, where he dueled with one of his soldiers. "If you figure it out, let me know."

* * *

><p>When they left, Fergus remained behind to continue his work with the castle, along with a company of the Crown's forces. He promised, darkly, to arrive at Denerim for Thomas's judgment, and Elissa tried to share his eagerness. She would certainly be pleased to see him there. His easy presence and happy memories of who she'd been had softened some of her sharper edges, making her feel a little more human. But she was no longer sure what that judgment should be, and she feared ending up on the opposite side of his wishes.<p>

She seized an opportunity to speak with Thomas when they made camp the second night. He traveled in chains but had been allowed a horse on a lead for himself, as well as a tent. His men had received judgment at Highever, through the testimony of its residents, and only a handful of the highest ranking came with them to Denerim for further review. The others remained under Fergus's command or were sent to the Grey Wardens at Amaranthine, if they chose.

Howe sat outside his tent quietly, still in chains with a few guards around him. He looked up as she approached. "Lady Cousland. An honor. I'd offer hospitality, but…"

"Not necessary, Lord Howe," she said, sitting next to him.

"Not Lord. We were stripped of our title, remember? Now I'm just Thomas." He closed his eyes. "It's something of a relief."

She knew how he felt. Titles were heavy things, even for families that weren't disgraced. But he'd grown up noble and would be used to noble cadences. She slipped easily into her old speech patterns. "The people of Highever spoke very highly of you. They said you treated them well. I thank you on their behalf." She watched his face closely.

"To be thanked for helping those who were imperiled only to glorify your name is a bitter ale. Nevertheless, I hope they had some peace."

"Your men, too, are very loyal. Many offered to accept punishment in your place. So much loyalty to one so young is a rare honor."

He smiled faintly. "And how old are you? You command the loyalty of an entire nation. Perhaps even the realms beyond it. Not that your father would have expected any less of you. He spoke of you often. He was very proud."

She wondered if he was trying to bait her with memories of her father. "If only he were alive to see his hopes fulfilled."

He flinched. Not bait, then. "Yes, another shame for my family to shoulder."

"And of course, your own father is no longer here to carry it." He looked younger, more vulnerable. "Are you truly not angry with me for his death?"

"I didn't wish his death. I never could have. But I understand your actions. Leave it at that." His eyes flashed a warning.

It settled her that he showed some emotion. Too much calm meant a lie. She relaxed, dropped some of the formality. "I'm sorry." She circled back to an earlier topic. "Forgive me again, but I have to know. You say I command loyalty, and I suppose that's true, but it's a loyalty borne of heroism. Your men follow you without obvious acts. And they don't follow your name, they follow you as a person. How do you do it?"

He looked at her curiously. "The same way you always have, lady. By earning it. Stories of your strength existed well before the end of the Blight." She shook her head, unsatisfied. He continued. "There is one thing I can offer, something my brother once told me. He said that when you command, it's tempting to reward excellence in your troops by increasing your own excellence. You hone yourself, sharpening your skills, trying to deserve the service they give you. This is noble and useful, because a commander must be skilled to lead. But it only glories you. What's really needed, to glory them and humble yourself, is your gratitude. I've always remembered to thank my men when they deserve it."

She toyed with the top of her boot and considered his words. They were beyond her experience. Hard to believe he was the younger of them.

He added, gently, "You should thank your men. One man in particular. His loyalty is complete, obvious even to me." He nodded to where Alistair walked the perimeter of the camp restlessly. She narrowed her eyes.

"The King is not my man. I serve him." She stood.

"As you say, Lady." She walked away and tried to remember the last time she'd thanked any of her companions for anything that mattered.

* * *

><p>Alistair groaned when he heard footsteps behind him. "Please tell the Captain I appreciate his unparalleled diligence, but I am capable of walking a perimeter without an honor guard."<p>

"You'll never surpass the consequence of the Empress with that attitude." Elissa's voice, amused. His heart jumped, and he sternly checked it. Clearly eagerness wasn't going to help him with her.

He stopped and turned. "When I learned she had a wing dedicated entirely to masks for her dogs, I gave up the dream." She smiled. He was glad to see some of the brittleness had left her expression in the last few days. Highever had healed some of her wounds more cleanly. Of course, it was mostly her brother who'd been able to help, but who was keeping track?

"I think we need to talk," she said. His mouth went dry. That never started anything good, at least according to his formerly married Warden brothers. He steeled himself and nodded. They moved to an abandoned fire near the edge of the camp, away from the main group. He spent a long minute trying to figure out how close to sit to her before choosing an arm's length. She didn't seem to notice.

She heaved a sigh. "Thank you, Alistair."

"You're certainly welcome. I'm always happy to sit by the fire when asked."

"No, not for this. You found my brother. Helped recover my father's lands. Followed me during the Blight even when you disagreed and convinced others to do the same. Became king against your will." She paused. "Saved my life. I wouldn't have seen any of this if you hadn't done all that and more. Fergus would be alone."

"You don't have to thank me for any of those things. I didn't do them for that."

She shook her head. "I know I don't have to. I want to. I should have already. I'm sorry."

He tried to regroup. "You're my friend. I know I may have, uh, confused the issue a few weeks ago, but I wasn't looking for… I mean I don't want to make you think I expected…" Perfect. Regrouping accomplished flawlessly.

She surprised him with a small grin. "As if you'd be capable of planning that many moves ahead." She sobered. "I suppose we need to talk about that. It's overdue."

He swallowed. "You've been doing a masterful job of avoiding both me and it. If you want to keep doing so, I'll follow your lead."

"No, that's not fair. And it wouldn't work anyway, not for much longer." She looked past him, tired. "You said that we're friends. I honestly don't know that there's enough of me left to be anyone's friend. When I told you I was a weapon, I wasn't being metaphorical. At Ostagar, when we first met, I know you think I was already hard. Maybe, but only a little. I was hurting and felt very alone. But after Loghain's betrayal, we were as alone as it was possible to be, and the only thing in front of us was duty. That's when I chose who I would be. I cut away so many parts of myself to achieve it." She threw a rock into the fire.

"That was okay, because it really was important. Besides, the same change happened to you, just not as fully." She shot him a side-eyed look. "You're harder to repress, I guess. Or you didn't desire it as clearly as I did. So now you're recovering, turning back into someone who can be a whole person. I wish I could do that. I didn't expect to be here to have to try. It's so stupid to never feel anything but anger. And you want so much from me… it's a lot. I don't know what to do with it. I've avoided you because I don't know how to respond."

That fear he understood, all too well. "I don't want anything you wouldn't willingly give. I swear it. In this or in anything. It wasn't right of me to put you in the position I did. I assumed too much. I put what I wanted ahead of what was best." He went on, trying to remove the wariness from her eyes. "You can even leave Denerim, if you want. Any command to have you stay is abolished. But I hope you won't go. The Council won't fight nearly so much without you, and the meetings add so much spice to my week."

She looked at him strangely. "You'd let me do that? Go somewhere else?"

"If it's what you wanted. I didn't intend to become your jailer." It cost him dearly to say, but he supposed the truth wasn't purchased cheaply.

The firelight flickered over her, hesitant and light. Like her words. "Why would you choose me?"

He peered at her, trying to see if she was joking. When it was clear she wasn't, he looked for the right words. Ones that wouldn't scare her. "Well, you're very pretty, for a living weapon. And I'd never be bored." She didn't react. He started again. "I trust you. I don't trust many nobles, especially the women. You'd be good for Fereldan. If I died, you'd rule easily. People would follow you. You're good. Not good at what you do, although you are, but good like warriors of legend. Good like Andraste must have been when she walked the realm. Good like Duncan."

"Like you," she said quietly. He stopped speaking. She closed her eyes. "Being a wife seems as impossible as Oghren leaving a drink behind. Can we try to be friends? Not comrades who have each other's backs, not argumentative allies, but actual friends? It might make me feel more like a person again." She sounded more uncertain than he'd ever heard her.

"Of course. Whatever you need. I'll have the bracelets made immediately. I have to warn you that my hair-braiding skills have fallen to pieces since I left Templar training, but I can listen for hours to any amount of gossip." She stared at him, bemused. He tried and failed to find seriousness. "Anything that can be done to make sure I don't have to marry a strange woman and live my life with her, I'll do it. Well, strange in that I don't know her. You're strange in many other ways."

She shoved him. He laughed uncomfortably. "You're the one who keeps saying you're a piece of metal instead of a human. Not many Heroes could get away with that, you know."

He pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him in the dimming glow of the fire, and he felt his face warm. He hoped she couldn't see it. "Thank you," she said again. She brushed his cheek with a kiss and turned away. He watched her go, mesmerized by the sway of her hair. Relief and terror mingled in his mind. The outline of her mouth burned onto his skin. Friends. Right. No problem.


	6. Sentencing

Elissa arrived in Denerim almost happy. The rest of the journey she'd tried to follow Thomas's advice and express thankfulness to the people around her. It was uncomfortable, and Zevran especially saw it as marvelous entertainment to watch her squirm, but in doing so she felt more like herself and less like who she'd chosen to be. She also spent time with Alistair when she could, not just training or arguing about policy decisions like usual, but talking like friends. He coaxed stories of her childhood in Highever out of her, and she found to her surprise that the memories were no longer so painful and cruel as they had been. Pain still threaded through them, stopping her short when she hit it and returning her to silence, but there was joy, too. So they spoke often, and if their hands brushed a little more or their eyes met a little longer than they did with other people, that held some happiness as well.

Back in the palace, time was more precious. The kingdom's business came first, and she still avoided all social functions like they were dragons. The only time of day they always saw each other was in morning training with the castle guard. Leliana approved of this use of his time, saying that the guards would be more loyal, and the country more relieved, if they saw demonstrations that their king could fight, and fight well. Hundreds of residents came to watch and bolster their own hopes for a recovering Fereldan. Elissa never fought against him here, but beside him, and they honed their defenders' strength with unrelenting lessons.

After a particularly muddy session, they walked back to their rooms together. They'd worn practice armor over their clothes, but it hadn't helped. Mud spattered every inch of them, and Elissa knew her maids would curse her name yet again as they took her tunic to the laundry. She gathered that Anora had run a tidier castle. A knot of minor nobles watched them pass and whispered to themselves. She smiled a little. "You know they talk about us, right? We're probably the hottest topic in Denerim."

"The price of celebrity, I suppose. It's funny, I remember a time when I was barely allowed to be spoken of at all. Bastards are usually invisible, especially when they're royal." He looked at her. "Does it bother you?"

"No. I was born to be talked about. I do wish that group of fluttering ladies would stop coming to watch us train, though. They distract some of the women and most of the men. Plus, I think that the blonde one from the south is eventually going to figure out how to light me on fire with her mind, and it would be inconvenient to murder one of your admirers."

"Is that why they come, to admire me? I thought they were just interested in combat tactics." His mouth twitched.

"Don't lie, you like the attention."

"From a distance, perhaps." He glanced at her. "I'll tell the guards to bar them, if you like."

"Maker, no. They already hate me enough, no need to start an outright war with their families. You'll need their support someday. Besides, they're only doing their duty. Their fathers and mothers sent themk here to capture your attention if they can, slander your choice if they can't, then stick around to supplant her when you tire of her. It's how the game is played."

He paled a little. "You mean I won't be rid of them even if I marry?"

"You'll just have to tolerate all of that admiration forever, I fear." She looked at his handsome profile and the muscles clearly visible through his sodden shirt. "I almost feel bad for them. Usually the objects of these plans aren't quite so desirable. I imagine several of them might come close to true heartbreak over you."

He flushed. They stopped in front of her door, and he touched her arm lightly. "But what about you? Do you think they'll actually try to do you harm?"

"No. They'll say spiteful things, some even true, but that doesn't matter. They look down on me as a woman who plays in the mud with soldiers, but they know I outrank them all. It won't be a problem."

"Well, if they had any sense they'd know the surest way to enjoy my favor is to get in the mud with me."

She tried to imagine a dozen ladies of the court wading through the training yard. It wouldn't come to her. "I think they prefer to watch you get dirty." She reached up to brush soil from his face, and he blushed even more deeply. Her heart leapt and she grinned. "You know, it seems a shame to have all of these people talking with nothing true to say."

He raised his eyebrows but before he could answer she'd raised herself on her toes to kiss him. He smelled like sweat and dirt and metal, and she knew she did too, but she tried not to worry about her lack of lady's graces. Her hands gripped his shirt lightly to keep her balance. He was too surprised to respond but eventually curled his hand behind her head and rocked her back to the floor. He returned this kiss gently, softly, without pushing. He never did.

She wanted him to push a little.

Her hand dropped, and she slid it up under his shirt, playing it over his stomach. It was warm and hard underneath her fingers, and she hummed in pleasure. She was rewarded with a gasp before his hand tightened in her mud-streaked hair and he tilted her head up to fit her lips more closely to his. Still Alistair's gentle nature, but now laced with strength and urgency. She opened her mouth to him, and he took it without hesitation. He groaned softly when her tongue met his. A wave of longing rolled through her. His other hand brushed over her body, and she fought to keep her hips away from his. She wondered if she'd be able to stop. Or if she wanted to. Her room was temptingly close.

After a very long minute, he drew back. He smiled lightly, but his eyes were dark, warmer than usual, and their look made her a little giddy. She knew she was flushed, and she struggled to breathe normally. His fingers rubbed the back of her neck. She gave him a shaky grin. "That ought to be good for a few new rumors."

To her relief, he stepped away and broke contact. When he spoke, his voice was a little hoarse. "Anything to please my people." He turned and walked away, and she slipped into her room.

* * *

><p>Fergus arrived the next day for the Howe trial, which forestalled any repeat performances. Alistair was reluctant to overtly court her with her older brother around, so Fergus was like an invisible chaperone whenever she was with the King, and they remained chaste. Outwardly. Inwardly, she thought about things that would have horrified her mildly protective brother. From the way Alistair looked at her sometimes, she thought he might be having the same problem.<p>

Thomas's upcoming trial took her mind off of it, at least somewhat. She visited him frequently in his cell, making sure they were treating him well. They spoke about themselves, about people they'd known growing up, and she learned that he was as good a man as she'd suspected. He seemed resigned to his fate, ready for a lifetime of imprisonment or even death, but her mind rebelled against it. There were enough bad people in the world. The good ones shouldn't be spent lightly.

They'd brought his sister Delilah from the village near Amaranthine to be with him. She wasn't under arrest, but she spent most of her time in the jail anyway. Elissa was convinced she had strength in her, though she was much too outwardly subservient for her own tastes. Clearly the patriarch of the Howe family hadn't been as supportive of his daughter as Teryn Cousland had. It seemed impossible to her that such a twisted man could have raised two worthwhile children, but Thomas tried to explain. "Nathaniel, our older brother, got most of his time and attention. He turned him into a mirror and left us to find our own paths. But also, our father wasn't always like the man he became. Parts of it were inside of him, I suppose, but he was good for a time. I swear it."

She couldn't find a way to believe him, but she didn't contradict. She'd never think Arl Howe had any value, but his son should have what comfort he could.

In her room on the morning of the trial, she thought furiously about what to do. Fergus was adamant that Thomas should pay for Highever, in blood. She'd tried to gauge Alistair's thoughts on the issue, but he'd been noncommittal. This was his first Day of Judgment, with many cases, and he was determined to be as impartial as possible before hearing arguments. The advisor in her applauded his wisdom, but Elissa herself itched for a clearer answer. She made up her mind and reached for a gown from her wardrobe.

* * *

><p>He wanted desperately to rub his temples, but he knew that King Alistair, judge and jury, couldn't be seen as exhausted. He sat up straighter and called, "Next case."<p>

The herald responded. "Last case of the day, Your Majesty. Thomas Howe, charged with murder, vandalism, interfering with another noble's claim, warmongering, sedition, and treason against the Crown."

"Bring him forward." Thomas shuffled towards him in chains, guards on either side. A woman in noble's clothing followed him, his sister by the resemblance. The boy knelt before his seat of judgment. "Thomas Howe, these are serious charges. What have you to say in your defense?"

The boy looked at him sadly. "I have no defense to offer, sire. My father chose to wage war against the Crown and the Couslands of Highever, and I followed his orders. I tried to deter murder and vandalism, when I could, but the other charges are not wrong."

Alistair shifted in his seat. "You say you acted on your father's orders. Did you have no desire to perform the acts yourself?"

"I had no desire for the lands of Highever, no reason to want King Cailan or the Couslands dead. But when I was shown the path I should walk, I didn't turn away. To walk a bad path honorably is not the same as to do right."

Fergus Cousland stepped forward. "Your Highness, as Teyrn of Highever I would speak." Alistair nodded. "Whether or not he desired to perform them is irrelevant. The attack on my family's home killed my parents, the Teyrn and Teyrna, as well as my wife and only child. Oren was only a boy. The Howes slaughtered them all like animals in an act of war, in direct violation of commands from their King. My sister survived only through the honor of the Grey Wardens, otherwise I would be the only remaining member of your most loyal house. The only remaining member after a massacre perpetrated by another noble sworn to this kingdom. This without mentioning all of the men and women who served us ably and were cut down for the crime of defending their home. Thomas Howe may not have struck the killing blows, but without his support, his father would not have been able to risk the assault on Highever while protecting his own holdings and aiding Loghain in Denerim. Thomas Howe's support of his father directly caused this atrocity. My wife and child did not deserve it." His voice deepened to a growl, and Alistair saw him rubbing his fingers across a ribbon in his hand.

He continued. "To say that he was following orders may be enough for a soldier sworn to service, or a peasant who is frightened, especially when the orders are followed with attempts at humanity. Not all men have the freedom to countermand. But this is no excuse for a nobleman, who has been taught his rights and responsibilities from infancy. I knew the Howes, and I know that they were not ignorant of them. This man himself doesn't deny it. When we are given an order that goes against our laws, our very beings, we are the ones who need to stand to the line and strike those orders down. We must stand against ourselves, or who will? These atrocities will only happen again if we let their supporters go free. Your Highness, I request execution for this noble traitor, Thomas Howe."

The nobles in the gallery and the commoners in the crowded balconies murmured in agreement. Alistair saw them nodding amongst themselves, some with a fierce joy but most with an acceptance, a tiredness, a sense of duty. He rubbed his hand on the arm of the throne. "Thank you, Teyrn Cousland, for your words. I will consider them. Is there anyone who would speak in this man's defense?" His eyes swept the room. The sister's face held no expression, and he knew that she was the kind of noble female who wouldn't dare to speak in an assembly like this even for her own brother.

"Your Majesty, I would speak for him." The voice came from the nobles at his left, and they shifted to let her through. Elissa walked into the center of the chamber and knelt. He stared at her in shock. She wore a gown of deep emerald, fitted perfectly to her, and her hair was pinned back to reveal her face clearly. It wasn't the cold mask she'd worn for so long, but it was smooth and determined and held no fear. She looked every inch the noble, and every inch of him approved.

Fergus snarled at her. "Elissa, what are you doing?"

She held up her hand. "You've had your turn to speak, Teyrn, and did so eloquently. Now I will do so." Alistair gestured for her to continue. "Your Highness, my brother says nothing untrue. A noble's responsibilities are heavy and require much of us. Arl Howe's actions caused unspeakable suffering in Fereldan. But Arl Howe is dead. His lands are taken, turned to good purpose. He is past our judgment. Thomas Howe cared for the people of Highever. My people. They testified to me that he was kind and good to them. He protected servants from his own men, and his own men from each other. When his father died, he didn't run to save himself. He stayed to guard them, people who were not his own but he made his own through that noble responsibility. He surrendered to us peacefully, knowing that his reward for all of these works might be death. I would say Thomas Howe understands his duties better than we do, those of us here who would murder him for another man's crimes."

Her voice dropped, and the gallery leaned forward to hear her. "Is there no room for mercy in a noble's world? Is there no room for new honor?"

Alistair looked at the people watching and saw only outrage, no softening of their faces. Fergus clenched his fists. "What honor was there in all this death? You saw the walls covered in blood. You watched them die. Oriana, Oren? Your own nephew, your own parents, dead, and you would let their killer free because he was kind later?"

"Their killer is dead!" she snapped. "I ripped him apart him with my own blade, piece by piece, and believe me he suffered, brother. He suffered greatly for what he did to us all. Loghain, too, was executed for his part. But we didn't execute Anora. If the child of one traitor lives, why should another be sacrificed for our blood lust?"

"I will have justice!" Fergus said. "You took your justice, and the King his, and I will have my own."

"This is not justice. It's butchery. It makes you no better than Rendon Howe." She turned back to Alistair. "If you won't let him free, send him to the Grey Wardens. He knows their new holding and is a capable fighter and leader. They can use him."

Fergus folded his arms and glared. Alistair felt Elissa's gaze on him, but he was still studying the people. They agreed with Fergus. They wanted a death. They needed someone to pay for all the hurt, someone they could pour their anger into and make it gone. The nobles wanted it for their own protection. The commoners wanted it so that they felt the nobles would be held to accounts by the Crown. The boy himself didn't deny his own complicity. And he knew the Grey Wardens wouldn't be a compromise they were willing to accept, from his own experience. He hadn't been willing with Loghain.

Alistair turned to Thomas, trying to get a read on his feelings. The man gaped at Elissa, and the look on his face was one of complete and utter worship. Jealousy snaked around his heart. Was this why she fought for him? Not only nobility and honor, but something deeper?

He banished the thought. He couldn't afford to let it influence him.

He finally looked at Elissa again. She waited quietly, but he saw that she believed he would make the honorable choice. She trusted him. He balanced what was needed and what was right on a knife's edge and knew that both sides held pain. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Maker to forgive him. "I've heard the arguments presented and have made my judgment. The Grey Wardens accept any man, but I would not ask them to accept this. The traitor Thomas Howe will be sent to the executioner's block in three mornings' time. This is the will of the King, and the will of Fereldan."

The crowd's traditional response, "The will of the King," was full of vindication. Fergus squeezed his eyes closed and smiled. Thomas showed no reaction, but his sister knelt beside him and wept. Alistair saw all of it and none of it. He watched Elissa's eyes fill with horror and silently begged her to stay quiet. He didn't want to fight her here. The nobles already glared at her, whispering about her traitorous sympathies.

Of course she didn't. "Your Highness, I beg of you -"

He cut her off. "Lady Cousland, the time for arguments has passed. The judgment is rendered."

Her anger broke. She whirled, dress floating around her in a soft halo, and drew the sword of the guard behind her. Before anyone could react, she tossed it at his feet. "If he's to die, kill him yourselves then. If you would slaughter him as sacrifice for your own needs, get the blood on your own hands. Don't hide behind an executioner. Show these fine people what it is to see justice." She spat the last word. She stared at him, then Fergus, waiting. Fergus looked down, but Alistair kept his eyes steadily on her. "Cowards," she said when they didn't move.

The guards had moved forward to restrain her, but he waved them off. "Would you deny his family the chance to speak with him again? Would you deny him his last visit with the Reverend Mother? The sentence will pass in three days, Lady Cousland." She didn't move. The hurt and frustration pouring out of her stripped his soul bare. At last, just when he thought she might truly attack him, she turned on her heel and walked away.


	7. Sacrificing

Zevran was the first to come to her room. She let him in. For once the elf was solemn and made no attempt to flirt with her, only pulled her into a close hug. She stood with him for a moment, vibrating with fury in his arms, but then broke away, needing to move. He watched her pace and seemed to be arguing with himself. Eventually he held up a hand and sighed. She stopped.

His other hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag tied with string. He loosened it and poured a few grains of loose powder out into his hand. She said nothing, confused. They sat there like an offering of bread in the Chantry. "This much will cause death."

She narrowed her eyes. "A gift from the Crows?"

"Gift may be stretching the point, but largely yes. The death is soft, for death."

Her hand stretched out and took the bag. It was surprisingly heavy, but the string pulled closed easily. "Will you leave with me?"

"My heart would never allow me to part from you, my dearest." He walked to the door. "Just before midnight?"

She nodded. He turned to go. "Zevran? Don't tell Leliana." He grimaced and left.

* * *

><p>Fergus was the next. She refused him entry. He shouted at her through the door, called her a traitor and worse to her family, and she made her heart into stone. The knife edges of her, the sharp parts that never dulled, sliced him away from herself until she felt nothing. His words became only noise, and she no longer understood them. He left after a time, and she was glad.<p>

* * *

><p>Alistair came last. He would not be cut away so easily, so she let him in. Besides, she wanted to face this ruler who would sell a boy to gain a nation. She'd expected him to come in wary, a little afraid. Looking for her approval. Instead he stood in front of her unbowed and strong. He was king, now, in truth and in word, and sought approval from no one. A leader. Her admiration of his transformation was reluctant and bitter, and she wouldn't show it to him.<p>

"So," she said, "you do know how to hurt with more than a sword. I thought you weren't capable of it."

His eyes flashed. "I won't apologize for my choice. I made the judgment that was needed for my people."

"I didn't realize Fereldan was the nation of vengeance now," she said. "What a kind group we've turned out to be. No wonder Orleias tried to conquer us so many times. They were only trying to civilize us."

"Not vengeance. Justice. Healing. Thomas Howe understands these things better than you do."

"Don't you dare speak of him. A boy you'll murder in three days. A boy who doesn't deserve to carry the anger of a country."

He growled at her. "None of us deserve anything that's happened. I didn't deserve a bastard's lonely childhood nor do I deserve the burden of my crown. You didn't deserve the fate that Duncan laid on you. Eamon didn't deserve to lose his family to a traitor's plot. It's not about deserving, Elissa. It's about accepting. Doing what's needed. You've championed that often enough. And you've taken your own fate without complaint. Why not allow him to choose his?"

"He didn't choose it! You chose it for him, Your Highness."

"You know that's not true. He died months ago, when he walked into Highever for the first time. He knows it. His eyes knew it when he knelt before me. He came prepared to do what was needed. The only thing that gave him any hope at all was your reckless, passionate, flaming speech. You were so beautiful that the Maker himself would have granted anything you asked." He sighed. "But I'm not the Maker. I'm only the ruler of this tired, bitter country that needs a symbol. I won't break its back for the sake of anyone. Not even you."

She crossed her arms. "Eamon would be proud. Before he left, he told me to keep you in line, to make sure you didn't make choices that would help the few but hurt the many. He obviously had nothing to worry about."

They were silent for a long time. She spoke again. "Fergus manipulated you, you know. He salted the crowds with people who agreed with him, then used his words to inflame the rest, to force you into the choice that he wanted. He'd been planning for this ever since he got here."

"Yes, I know." He looked at her. "But manipulation must be the Cousland gift, I think."

"I didn't try to manipulate you," she said.

"Then why did you wear this?" He stepped closer to her and drew his finger down the silk sleeve of her dress. An intimate gesture that held no warmth. She looked down, ashamed against her will. He dropped his hand. "Thomas Howe must be very important to you."

"All good people are important to Fereldan," she said. She studied the carpet. "That includes you. I accept the King's judgment, for the good of his nation. That doesn't mean I forgive the man who turned his back on honor for it."

His footsteps were quiet as he moved to the door. He paused, as if to say something, then left without a word.

* * *

><p>That night she went to Thomas's cell. The guards let her pass unchallenged, whether because Alistair had ordered it or they saw the look in her eyes she didn't know. She arrived to find his sister sitting with him. They spoke quietly together, and she hesitated. Delilah looked over. Her eyes were tight, but she motioned Elissa into the small chamber with them. She closed the door lightly behind her.<p>

She sat on the bed. Thomas spoke first. "Lady Cousland, thank you for your efforts today, however unwarranted they were. I'm honored that you tried."

"They were warranted," Delilah said under her breath and snorted. When she looked over, the girl spoke louder, through tears. "You were right. He doesn't deserve this punishment. The King is a petty tyrant."

Thomas took her hand. "I accept it. No tears. And don't be too hard on His Majesty. His choices are not easy."

Elissa stared at him, incredulous. "How can you accept things so easily? Why aren't you furious?"

"I've executed many men. Not all of them merited it. But all of the deaths were necessary for the ones who still lived." He paused. "I wish it wasn't so. It would be nice if justice were clean and bright with no grey edges. In your mind it seems to be, Lady Cousland, and it's what makes you so powerful when there is something to stand against. But it's your weakness when the enemies are unclear. Choices have no morality in themselves, they cross onto both sides of that line, and leaders don't always get to pick so cleanly where they stand. You were made for war, not peace."

His face broke a little, then. "Nevertheless I'm sad for the things in life I won't get to see, if that makes you feel any easier." He touched his sister's knee. "When this hellion finally finds a man who can hold her heart, for example."

She made a face at him, and Elissa's throat tightened at memories of her own brother, still there for all of her pruning of herself. She leaned forward, before she lost her composure. "Thomas, I've come to you with an alternative." He looked at her questioningly. "I can't help you escape. Even if I thought you would come with me, I swore to the King I accepted his decision. But you don't deserve to be a spectacle to slake the thirst of bloodthirsty people. I've a softer end for you, if you wish." She lifted Zevran's bag out of her pocket slightly.

He paled. "My lady, the King's justice can't be subverted."

"This is his justice. Just a kinder version." Delilah was pale as well, but nodded at her words. "You approve?" Elissa asked her.

"I want the Maker to receive him intact, my lady. I know Thomas will be welcome in His realm."

"Then if it's to happen, it must be tonight. And you must leave now, so that you're not caught up in it."

Tears fell down Delilah's cheeks. "I understand. We've already said our good-byes." She looked at her brother with love, then threw her arms around his neck such force he rocked backwards. "So long, brother. I hope to see you again, one day. Maker guide you and protect you."

"You as well, little sister. Always." Thomas closed his eyes against his own tears.

As she stood to leave, she drew Elissa to the door and spoke in low tones so that her brother couldn't hear. "Lady, do you think it would be possible for me to join the Grey Wardens? I'm a decent shot with a bow, and I know Amarathine's layout well. I could help. I have no other prospects, and I don't wish to marry against my will."

Elissa was surprised but nodded. "We could arrange that. Go to the stables and look for an Antivan elf named Zevran. Tell him your name and that you come from me. Say the word 'Rinna' to him if he doesn't believe you." The younger girl left with a last, sad look at her brother.

Thomas watched her go. "I'll take care of her, Thomas. I promise."

"I believe you, Lady. Your heart is a pure warrior's. I know it doesn't lie." He sighed. "Am I a coward if I take your path? I wouldn't wish to die that way."

"You're many things, but coward will never be one of them. It's not cowardice to take control of your own end."

"What worries me most is if I don't, Delilah will stay and watch. She won't want to, but she will, and it will hurt her terribly." He stopped and thought. She waited quietly. She wouldn't force him. At last he came to a decision. "I've given enough nobility to this world, I think. My death will erase some of my family's debt, but I won't hurt my sister with it. Give me your option, Lady Cousland."

She shook some powder into a cup from his nightstand. "When I leave, I'll ask the guard to bring you some water. Mix it into this and drink later tonight. You'll fall asleep. It will be gentle, I promise."

"Will you stay with me awhile first?"

She took his hand. "Of course." They sat silently. Noises of the castle floated around them, guards talking, a few revelers walking in the night, but the life felt muted and empty through the bars of the cell. She felt his hand trembling inside of hers, just a little, and she squeezed it, for his reassurance or her own she couldn't tell. He whispered prayers into the night, and she closed her eyes to join him. _Maker bless this good child you made and take away his fear._

Perhaps an hour had passed when he looked at her. "I think it's time. But first I must apologize to you, Lady Cousland."

"Please don't. You're guilty of nothing but loving a father who didn't deserve it."

He shook his head. "No, not for that. Something much earlier. My father, when I was younger, was adamant that you and I be betrothed. Marrying into the Cousland family was one of his earliest dreams. Nathaniel was of course destined to rule Amaranthine, but I was perfect for his vision. As for me, I have never craved the favor of any woman, though that wasn't something I could tell him. Instead I disparaged you, insulted you, a girl I had never met. I'd hoped he'd give up on marriage for me totally if I showed enough hate for you. Foolish, of course, and it never worked."

She laughed a little. "If that's all, you're more than forgiven. I have to admit I wasn't very complimentary of you when your father brought it up either."

"I can well imagine you were very candid," he said. He looked at her earnestly. "But from what I know of you now, I wish I could take it back. I never wanted a wife. But I think with you I would have been much happier than I feared. And perhaps things wouldn't have come to what they did."

She looked away. "That Elissa was not like I am now. She was rotten and foolish and wouldn't have been worthy of you. Don't regret." The pull of his hand brought her back.

"I don't know. We are always changing, but the core of ourselves so often remains from our beginnings even until the end." His eyes were bright with tears. "At least, that's what I hope is true."

Her arms closed around him in a tight hug. He shook inside of it, and her mind screamed fury. But when she pulled back she made her face reassuring. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. His tears mingled salt on her lips. She grieved for the Thomas and Elissa Howe that had never been, happy and safe in another world. Not the same people, not in love the way they loved others, but maybe close enough. Maybe better than this.

She stood to leave. He smiled at her as best he could. "The King is very lucky, Lady. He's a good man. Please don't let this keep you from him."

No answer that would satisfy him. "Peace, Thomas. May we meet again at the Maker's side."

* * *

><p>She met Zevran at the stables. He had the horses ready, along with Delilah and enough provisions to get them a decent start to wherever they were going. She didn't ask where he'd gotten them without anyone finding out. His lies were so implausible that she felt guiltier for having heard them. They were doing their final checks of their equipment when someone stepped quietly out of the shadows nearby. She whirled around, hand to her sword. Leliana.<p>

She relaxed. "You really do know everything, don't you?"

The bard didn't smile. "With some people I don't even need to wait for it to be confirmed."

"Are you going to tell Alistair?"

"Tell him what? I was never here." Her eyes glittered. "But if you must leave, at least be of use to us as you go."

She raised her eyebrow, and Leliana held out a thick roll of papers. "Codes, drop locations, meeting places, areas of interest. Despite what you do now, I believe you're still loyal to this country. Loyal to its ruler." Elissa said nothing. "He needs your help. We all do. Find his detractors. Create new supporters. Learn things and send them back. Aid people by killing their tormentors. Spread peace in Fereldan through acts of war. It's the only thing you know how to do."

Stung, she grabbed the proffered documents. "If there's a warrant on my head, I'm not sure how effective I'll be able to be."

Leliana's face held hard amusement. "Oh, I think you know that it won't come to that. He's softer than you deserve."

"Leliana, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, Hero. Do what you must." Elissa turned and swung onto her mount. Zevran and Delilah were already astride, ready to leave the yard. Leliana looked up at her. "You know that he made the right decision, don't you?"

She nodded. "I know. With enough time, I might even be able to forgive him."

* * *

><p>Leliana woke him at dawn. He listened, stunned, as she told him that Thomas Howe was dead in his cell, non-obviously poisoned. No one but Wynne had picked up on it. His mind was fuzzy with sleep, but not fuzzy enough not to know who was responsible. Before she could stop him, he bolted out of bed and went to Elissa's room. It was exactly as it always was, except for her. Well, not exactly. A green silk dress was draped over the back of her desk's chair. He walked over and saw a note written in clean lines.<p>

_I've executed the King's justice. Let no one else be blamed for my actions.. ~ Elissa Cousland_

He stood for a long moment, feeling the silk underneath his fingers. She'd left him, for one decision. For one man. That her loyalty to him was so shallow when his allegiance ran so deep burned him. That he was going to protect her now, shield her again, only made it worse. Anger would come later, he knew. It was waiting hot and strong in his heart. Now he just felt hollow. "Where did she go, Leliana?"

Her face was carefully blank. "Your Majesty?"

"Okay, don't tell me. Is Zevran with her?" She said nothing. "Fine. Has anyone else seen this?"

"No."

He thought. "Tell people that he committed suicide out of shame for his crimes. Create a note from him to this effect. Announce that the Howes are cowards and traitors, and Fereldan has unmasked their weakness."

"Teyrn Cousland won't like it."

"Damn what Teyrn Cousland likes! Do it." She nodded and left the room. He read the note in his hand again, then balled it up and threw it in the waning fire. He went back to his chambers and put on his training clothes. The anger was filling him, and he was going to hit something. Might as well be admired for it.


	8. Separating

_Author's Note: Two excellent reviewers, Dr. Guruslav and Natzo, questioned the lack of the right of conscription in the judgment scene. I'm going to admit right up front that I didn't even think of it, so all of this stuff I will say is total after-the-fact rationalizing! However, here is what I would have written into the chapter, had I thought of it, that I hope will fill in the gap and be consistent with things I've already said. I could write it in now, but it would seem forced and also unfair to the reviewers who noticed it. I really appreciate that people are taking time out of their lives to review and comment on my story at all!_

_Alistair and Elissa have to be very careful about using any Grey Warden authority from a political perspective. The current ruler of Fereldan and its rumored future queen both being from the order isn't something they want to remind people of, particularly by forcing others to join it. However, even though Elissa would be impassioned enough to do in this case if she could regardless of people's opinions, there's no doubt she totally screwed herself. She went in without a doubt that Alistair would do what she wanted, both because she believed it was the only real choice and because she hasn't yet adjusted to the dynamic where he is also a decision-maker (a recurring issue). As soon as he passes his judgment, she's pretty much stuck. She doesn't really want to undermine his entire reign – she's always wanted to stabilize her country. She tries to guilt him or Fergus into passing it personally, then takes care of it herself in a less horrible way, but she can't stop him from dying anymore by her own actions._

_Hopefully all of that is at least passable for a plot hole filler! Okay, back to the action._

* * *

><p>She'd left nine months ago, and Elissa finally felt like a person. Not a noble game player, not a warrior hero, but a human who lived in the world and used all the pieces of herself to do it. She fought with her sword, with her influence, and with her knowledge to tear out the things that were wrong and leave right to grow in their place. Her friends had been right. She was made for war whether it existed or not, but even in times of peace there were uses for sharp edges. To plant a garden of healing herbs, someone still needed to root out the weeds, and she was a tool ideally suited.<p>

The timing wasn't lost on her either. She'd grown a child inside her, but the child had turned out to be herself. She wished she could tell someone about it, how the edges didn't always need to be smooth, but Zevran had no interest in philosophical musings. And it turned out that soulbirth was much like childbirth - painful, messy, and ultimately something endured alone.

* * *

><p>They'd left Denerim moving quickly. Despite Leliana's belief that Alistair wouldn't order her arrest, Elissa did think he might send people after them to drag her back for his own satisfaction. Heading straight for Amaranthine was also a worry, a place where he would certainly think to look for her, but she'd promised Thomas to take care of his sister, and she would honor it.<p>

In reality, Delilah's presence on the journey was the best thing that could have happened. Guarding another against their pain was the surest way of ignoring her own, and she threw herself into it with as much skill as she could. Worming out stories of him as a child, speaking fond remembrances of the few things she could, and strengthening her inner walls when the girl wept all kept her from her own melancholy. Of course, Zevran was even more successful than she was at cheering Delilah, through entirely different methods. He flirted and teased and plied the noble with compliments until he had her laughing and covering her face with her hands. Elissa wasn't surprised when their trips to gather resources at camp began taking a suspiciously long time, and she was even less surprised when only two tents were set up each night instead of three.

Soon after it began, she pulled alongside him as they rode and gave him a low warning. "I hope you know what you're doing. She's young and vulnerable, and I won't let you hurt her."

"You wound me! My skills with women are not so unreliable as you suggest, nor is she as young as you would believe. Her heart is more than safe from my abundant charms." He winked. "The other parts of her are decidedly less safe."

She must have looked unconvinced. He added, more seriously, "She is hurting and wishes not to for a time. I am here. My comforts are less accepted in Fereldan but no less honorable for that. She will leave at the end of our journey with a lighter heart, and one that does not regret me. Not all affairs must be so full of ardent anguish as yours."

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in mock suffering, and she glared at him. "Well, as long as that's all it is. And all it stays."

"Do I detect a note of jealousy? Believe me, my lovely Hero, I would be most happy to extend my comforting to your tent as well. I'm positively overflowing with it." She rolled her eyes and spurred her mount faster. He called after her, "In fact, I believe I could comfort you both together quite nicely as well!" He laughed as she threw him a rude gesture.

The other benefit of Delilah's presence was that it solidified her belief that she couldn't criticize Alistair for his decision, to anyone, no matter who. Speaking in support of it chafed her, even as a façade, but if she traveled the country with any negative sentiments of their ruler in her mouth, it would only do harm. She'd given Thomas a clean end, and that would have to be enough. A quiet voice inside of her whispered that spreading venom would also mean she'd given that end more in anger for being balked in her wishes than in the name of honor, and it was an uncomfortable thought. It sounded, just a little bit, like truth.

So she honed her rhetoric against Delilah's rage and by the end of the trip almost believed her words herself. The hardest moment was when they stopped in a village for supplies and learned the story circulating about his shameful suicide. It was good, for her, because it meant she wasn't a fugitive. It was bad, for every other reason, because the man running the shop told it with such rich satisfaction that they all knew Thomas had made it into a pantheon of Fereldan villains that might remain forever. She chewed on her own guilt, and Delilah retreated into herself that night so far even Zevran couldn't draw her back out.

The mood had lightened a little by the time they reached Amaranthine, and to Elissa's relief they were all accepted warmly. Her non-traditional training and restored title had made her wonder if they'd think her so outside their traditions as to not be one of them, but they welcomed her as sister. Delilah, too, was welcomed, and when they rode without her a few days later she was poring over maps of the castle and grounds with their commander, offering insight and advice. She also showed no pain at Zevran's departure, another relief.

* * *

><p>She and Zevran traveled alone after that, all across Thedas. They stayed mostly in Fereldan, where her status could do the most good, but went wherever they heard of problems that they could solve. The trips to Antiva were the most dangerous, where the Crows were still looking for their defected and disgraced member, but Zevran claimed to crave the adventure. He certainly showed no fear of them. She grumbled that she should write to Leliana and ask her to induce the King to enter into some kind of treaty, for the safety of both Zevran and his own court. He laughed. "And what about you?"<p>

"They're welcome to try," she snorted. "I've survived worse things than Crows. Actually, I survived them, too."

He smiled. "Now you know my own thoughts on the matter."

Leliana received regular reports from her newest spies, likely very useful ones. Zevran had an uncanny ability to elicit pillow talk and an enthusiasm for doing so she found almost embarrassing. While he flirted and drew attention in the taverns, she listened quietly, or spoke to the fighters and mercenaries who had drifted in. Some of their talk was exaggeration, some outright lies, but she got better at sifting through the differences. Their impressions of the moods of the people were also varied and detailed. And of course the concrete intelligence and materials they found in bandit strongholds and spy dens was the best of all.

They fought alone frequently. Zevran was deadly with both blades and bows, and his savagery still surprised her at times. She became almost as in tune with him as she'd been with Alistair when it came to where their blades would go and when. Still, two people could do only so much, and they found they got the best results when they prodded and pushed local villagers and guards to take part in defense or assaults. She inspired confidence, and they all stood a little straighter, looked a little less afraid, after they left them with their problems solved mostly by themselves. They were healed. At least a little.

The only places they never touched were Denerim, Highever and Redcliffe. Eamon would berate her, Fergus would imprison her and Alistair would loathe her. There was no good to be gained. Their rulers were strong enough to protect their people alone, so very little was sacrificed beyond her own heart and home.

And throughout their journeys, wherever they were, they waged a patient and subtle campaign of goodwill for King Alistair, ruler of Fereldan. It was harder than she'd thought at first, considering he'd saved all their lives. But Grey Wardens were unknown, grave and silent, and more feared for stealing children than trusted for killing darkspawn. After all, they hadn't been here in these villages when they were shaking in terror during the Blight. Alistair's commoner mother was also a source of disgust from the minor nobles, far more than it was for the major ones, who knew better than most how poor an indicator of worthiness blood was. The more minor the noble, the more likely they were to feel themselves above such a lowborn ruler.

They persevered. With the commoners, they spoke of his humor and humanity and told the stories that made him a friend. With the guards, they spoke of his bravery and fighting skills and told the stories that made him a warrior. With the elite, they spoke of his command and nobility and told the stories that made him a king. With the children, they told them nothing but that he was handsome and good, and they loved him for it unreservedly. And slowly, opinion changed.

The capital's actions helped immeasurably. As the months passed, more and more reforms swept across the country in waves. They were well-chosen and balanced and made everyone mostly happy with few very unhappy. The elves in the alienages were given more rights and protections while the nobles who relied on their labor were provided with Crown resources to ease their transition. Nobles were also expanded in their own rights when it came to their fellows, to prevent situations like the Howe's invasion of Highever to be so poorly handled in the future. The Grey Wardens of all nations remained distinct and non-political in name, but their attentions and aid were more focused on Fereldan than would be expected by random chance. And the foreign powers, even Tevinter, had stayed peaceful to a troubled nation through someone's skillful diplomacy.

In all of these things she saw the hands of the Council - Leliana's shrewdness, Wynne's maturity, Teagan's practicality - but their heart was Alistair's unreserved goodwill for his fellows. Her one regret was that Alistair would never know how proud she was of his reign, despite it all.

Well, perhaps not her only regret. When she told her stories of his goodness to the people, their reactions were humbling in their astonishment. She came to realize how much she'd taken his constant unselfishness for granted, a quality that most people had never seen anyone exhibit even once. While she knit herself together from warring pieces into the whole, she discovered a capability for love inside her that she'd thought lost for good. Maybe it was impossible to think about how good someone was for months on end without finding it.

She laughed a little at the irony, when she allowed herself to think about it at all. When he was near, she fought him for the smallest slights. When he was far, she loved the smallest graces. Completely incompatible. Just as well they hadn't gotten too far. She was no better than the silly girls mooning over him as they lived their village lives, only adoring him when he was too far away to have faults.

Occasionally a decree went out that hurt people, no matter how much the capital tried to avoid it. In those cases she found the injured, as self-appointed ambassador, and made what right she could. Once, after a newly empowered noble had interpreted her rights too broadly, they'd negotiated at implied swordpoint to restore a home to its rightful owner. They also handed over a decent amount of extra compensation, generously donated. That night they ate dinner with the grateful family, like friends and equals. Her childhood companions would have hardly recognized her easy commoner mannerisms.

She and Zevran told their familiar tales of the kingdom and its leader. The daughter, maybe twelve, tried to puzzle it out. "How can the King be so good when he did something so bad to us?"

She answered, "Kings are big people and the things they do are big things. Being big makes it easy to do something that is good for many, but makes it hard to see when bad things happen for a few. And then it's hard to fix them without making something even worse."

"That's why he has us, little one," said Zevran. "When your mother drops a copper through the floorboards, she asks you to retrieve it, correct? Your hands are small and quick." He tweaked the girl's pigtail and she grinned. "That's us. We are the delicate fingers the King needs to recover what his big, clumsy hands drop."

The girl's grandfather laughed. "You may be small and quick, but I think Lady Arlena would attest that the pair of you are anything but delicate." He coughed a little and looked speculatively at them. She braced for the question they always got. "Pardon me, Hero, for any offense, but I'd heard you and the King were betrothed. Why would he choose you to spread his delicate touch with such dangerous company?"

Zevran chuckled richly, and she shot him a look. "No offense taken. The King and I are allies, and I am his vassal, but there was no betrothal. Pure rumor from bored nobles, I'm afraid."

The mother swatted him. "Shame on you for asking. But I did tell you. This girl has too much sense to get caught up in that mess of a palace. I hear the King has frothy ladies dancing around him day and night. He can marry one of those fools and be welcome to it. Lady Cousland is much too important for all of that. I'd much rather she was here with us sane folks."

She laughed in agreement and let nothing show on her face. She was stronger, a whole person. She used her edges to cut away the bad and save the good. She traveled Fereldan freely, Zevran beside her faithfully, and she was very alone.

* * *

><p>Now, nine months after she'd left, she sat on an outcropping in Amaranthine and rested with her food. She'd worked with the other Wardens all morning, testing herself against others with her talents, and was gratified to have won every match. Even against some of the more senior ones from other garrisons. They were fast like her, but they didn't have her experience against a true enemy, and she knew she'd earned some respect. Delilah hadn't fought her, still no swordswoman, but had come to watch. Now she stood with a group of fellow recruits looking happy and alive. Elissa was glad.<p>

Zevran plopped down next to her. "I followed up on those rumors with some of my very handsome contacts in the village. Nothing, but they will keep their ears open once they recover their stamina."

"Thanks for trying." For weeks they'd been hearing whispers, unsubstantiated and vague, about some danger to the King, a plot against him. What it was, or who might be behind it, was unknown, and it frustrated her not to know. She hadn't even told Leliana yet, worried that their reaction to it would drive whatever it was to ground before she could locate the source. "We'll find something soon. Maybe if we head north this afternoon."

"Surely you would not make me ride something yet again today?" Zevran asked. "Let's remain here for at least the night."

She turned to him, irritated. "You have never once been tired from sex in your entire -" She broke off at a noise from the gates. They were raising and the signal for the arrival of Wardens sounded clear and high through the still air. She watched, curious, to see who had been sent to Fereldan, when she saw the standard of the Theirin house flow into the courtyard with a small guard. Its owner followed more slowly and dismounted with a broad grin.

Alistair.

She turned to Zevran in shock. "How can he be here? Leliana always warns us of his movements to avoid any… incidents." Zevran's face was all too innocent. "You didn't," she hissed.

"My dear, you have been such doom and gloom lately. No fun at all. I thought perhaps a visit would brighten you up."

"So when you said you'd heard that Amarathine might have information we needed?"

"A lie. I lie so well! It's a shame you don't get to see me do it more often."

She looked around, but there was no way to escape without attracting notice. She shrank back instead, hoping stillness would guard her until they went in to find places to sleep. Unfortunately, that showed no signs of happening. Instead, Alistair shrugged off his travelling clothes and gestured for light practice armor. He rolled his neck and swung his arms to loosen them. She tried desperately not to stare at his body and failed. She felt her cheeks warm, and she gazed resolutely at his face after he settled into the gear. He looked just as he always had, only more. More confident, more alive, more cheerful. Her heart seized a little at the last. She knew she shouldn't be surprised he was happier with her a distant problem instead of one close at hand. He wouldn't be pleased to see her here. She frowned a little. She shouldn't be pleased to see him, either. So why was her mind stubbornly refusing to be angry?

He really was very handsome. And tall. Had he always been that tall?

"You're drooling a little," said Zevran. She punched him in the leg without looking, and he laughed.

"Shut up. I'm thinking of creative ways to kill you. They're all so appealing."

They watched as Alistair took his place in the yard for warm-ups. He worked through them quickly, then took challengers as they came. The more senior Wardens hung back and let the new recruits go at him. He beat them all one by one, always with a cheerful smile and slap on the back. His sword was a blur, his shield impenetrable, even though she could see he held back a portion of his skill from each match.

When they were done, he never rushed them away, always spent some time talking about technique and giving advice. Each fighter left with a broad smile and a story to tell. Yes, he understood how to build loyalty in people. Where she'd earned respect, he would leave with allegiance. The Grey Wardens might never be completely apolitical again while he was in power.

After he finished a bout, she slipped off the outcropping and dropped to the ground. She acted on instinct, burying the rational part of her mind deep inside herself. Her body tingled, alive with energy. She knew what she had to do. She always knew what she had to do. As Alistair sent off his latest conquest to recover, he looked around for another challenger. She stepped forward, and she saw in his eyes the exact moment he noticed her. He looked like he'd seen another arch-demon. The rest of the Wardens murmured excitedly.

"I'll go next."


	9. Sublimating

She'd left nine months ago, and Alistair was fine. He rode to Amaranthine under morning sunlight, through a country that was, if not happy, at least healthier than it had been. People gathered along the road in villages and waved and cheered as he passed, and he smiled back even while his guards scanned them intensely for enemies. But there were none. There never were. So few people who wished him harm, now. Even other nations recognized the need for the country to rebuild under a stable ruler. Or, as Leliana cynically put it, they wanted to conquer them later, when they had better spoils to plunder. By every metric his reign was the most successful Fereldan had seen in two hundred years.

So he was fine. He wasn't riding to Amaranthine to escape the suffocation of his court and the decisions that never ceased. He didn't need to see his Grey Warden brothers and sisters to set aside the burden of kingship. And he certainly wasn't avoiding the never-ending lines of eligible and not-so eligible women set in front of him like fence-posts, hemming him into a future. Not in the least. He'd tell that to anyone. Because if he'd learned anything in these long months since she'd left, it was that a wise royal never acknowledged the hard things that were true, and only discussed the soft things that weren't. It seemed that Elissa had been the only person in Thedas who'd ever cherished pure, unpleasant, unadulterated truth.

* * *

><p>The first Council meeting had been the most difficult time. Without Elissa and Zevran in the room, it was clear how few shoulders would carry the weight of ruling. Leliana's would carry even more than his own, most likely. All he had to do was show up with a smile and most people were satisfied. He got the impression his visitors didn't expect kings to be very swift, or at least they didn't expect him to be. Leliana had to actually negotiate with them.<p>

The first meeting was full of negative space, words and names they all took care not to mention. The experience was like several large people sharing room in a small carriage, and they did so much negotiation around one another that he wasn't sure they accomplished anything. When it finished, he went straight to the training yard. He spent most of his time there, searching for physical pains to block out the mental. It was harder than he'd hoped, since his stubborn mind continued to look for Elissa among the figures in armor whenever he stopped guarding it. Teagan often joined him and delicately steered his nephew away from live sparring when he sensed his temper beginning to rise. Alistair never said anything, but he was grateful. He couldn't afford to get a reputation for beating his guards into a pulp.

It got easier as the weeks went past. For one, Fergus left, which was easier for them both. For another, even he knew he wasn't really suited to anger. Wynne told him it was his strength as ruler, that he let the past go without holding bitterness. She framed it in the context of an Antivan noble who'd forgotten to bring whatever appropriate royal gift he was supposed to bring, but he understood her meaning. He was slowly gaining access to the secret river of information that flowed underneath the words of everyone he interacted with, which was good because that's where all of the real meaning was. Things made sense without any questions on his part much more often.

That scared him a little. He wondered if the crown had some kind of demon hidden in it that was changing his brain. A royalty demon maybe. In his chambers he privately tested it with his limited Templar powers and found nothing, but he remained suspicious and wore it as little as possible.

So the anger faded, scarred over inside of him, and he missed it a little because the sadness was much worse. He knew the people around him preferred him to be quiet over explosive, and it certainly made the state dinners less treacherous, but he'd hoped he'd left sadness behind him with the Blight. Instead, it moved into his head, like several ingratiating and homeless nobles had moved into his palace, and he had no luck evicting either.

By unspoken agreement, Elissa and Zevran's rooms remained untouched and ready for them, as if they'd only gone on a quick journey and would be back any day. He acquired a habit of slowing down as he passed each one, listening for noises, irrationally hoping that someone would be in them. This lasted until he scared a maid so badly that Wynne had to gently direct him to take another route through the wing.

The last flame of his anger died a few weeks after Howe's death, when Leliana announced that they'd acquired a new operative group that would be passing them information on a regular basis. He didn't pay much attention. It sometimes seemed like everyone in the entire country and half of Orleias was Leliana's operative, including him. But, when the meeting ended, she left a sheet of paper on the table that no one else acknowledged. Curious, he picked it up and recognized a familiar script. It was written in codes he had no hope of reading, but the handwriting was clear and strong. He glanced up in surprise, and Leliana tipped her head slightly before she walked out the door.

Another thing that was never mentioned openly. But she left the reports on the table whenever she got them, and he took them back to his chambers without a word. He traced his fingers over their symbols slowly before he slept and tried to understand their hidden meanings. Not the codes, not the words on the page, but what the reports themselves represented. Elissa was so direct in her speech, so hard to read outside of it. He had no hope of beginning. They meant loyalty, though, certainly. That was a relief. Lady Cousland, the Hero of Fereldan, or Elissa herself would all be powerful, troubling enemies alone. Putting them into one woman and giving her a sword was asking for complete war.

He was grateful for her help and that he wouldn't have to fight against her. Selfishly, he thought it was only right, since she'd done this to him in the first place. Still, as he drifted off to sleep after burning her letters carefully in his fire, he couldn't banish the regret. If her assistance showed loyalty to the crown, her absence showed that she'd meant what she said before she left. She respected his crown, but not him. Probably never would again. Despite the fact that his waking mind knew he'd made the only possible choice, he would have traded one for the other in an instant if he could, in those moments when he was sliding into the Fade.

* * *

><p>The days flew faster as they turned away from memorials and towards rebuilding. He made terrifying numbers of decisions, large and small, about the direction of a country he barely understood. Sometimes he wanted to stand up and ask if anyone there really thought their future should rely on a man who spent most of his free time wondering if his formal shirts were red with blue stripes or blue with red stripes, but he resisted. And he continued to decide. The Council helped, nudged him into directions he hadn't noticed, pointed out pitfalls he would have fallen into, but mostly it was him. Alone.<p>

Somehow nothing exploded.

He wondered sometimes what Elissa thought of him, out in the world. People were reluctant to mention her in front of him, and he didn't dare ask directly, but he gathered that she was something of a knight errant in Fereldan, with Zevran as her squire. She rode into dark places and brought light. The stories had the tinge of legend around them. Divinity. His heart ached when he heard them. He knew this was exactly the life she would have chosen for herself all along, if he hadn't tried to stop her from going to it.

He felt slow and plodding here in his castle, throwing hundreds of small stones in to ponds so wide the ripples might never be felt at their edges. She was using boulders and shaking the nation to its foundations. He envied her freedom.

* * *

><p>The only unending annoyances were the weekly updates from Redcliffe delivered by an increasingly uncomfortable Teagan. "Your Highness, the Arl asks that I again stress to you the importance of selecting a wife from among the many ladies who grace your court," he said at the tail end of another Council meeting.<p>

He slapped the table. "Maker's breath. Reply as usual. I am considering my options. A shame such a good Arl has lowered himself to become such a ridiculous marriage broker," he added under his breath.

"I'm not sure my brother will accept that answer any longer, sire. He speaks of coming to Denerim personally."

"What, so he can push and prod me down an aisle? He can't force me to do it." He smiled. "Though if he does come, he's welcome to marry as many of them as he chooses. Thin the herd a little."

Wynne coughed discreetly, and he looked at her. "What, do you think he actually wants to do that? Not marry a round dozen, of course, but marry one of them?"

"Your Highness," she said, "I'm not sure it's a question of his desires."

Alistair clenched his jaw. He wanted to beg them to simply say what they meant, but that was no longer the way things were done. "I don't follow."

"Surely you've noticed that marriages among nobles have been almost non-existent in the last eight months since you took the throne."

He stared back blankly. Who had the energy to notice that? "What, they don't want to go ahead of me? Is this some kind of royal prerogative? They're more than welcome to skip to the front. I decree this a wedding-friendly nation even when I'm single. Write that down."

Teagan leaned forward. "I'm sure many men would enjoy nothing more. But with your lack of preference shown to any lady, they all feel they may do better to wait."

"Am I cramping your style, Uncle? Looking for a wife yourself?" He meant it as a joke, but Teagan colored faintly. He shot a look at Leliana and Wynne. Leliana's face in particular was the shade of honest she wore when she was lying the hardest, but it held a miniscule smile. The Guerrins always had been weak for Orlesians. Another newly open secret to dance around. "Fine. Tell the three least annoying ladies that I'm paying them special interest, and then maybe the rest will leave. Better yet, tell everyone I'm betrothed already, and they'll all go."

"To whom?" asked Leliana. He glared at her, daring her to finish the thought. She didn't flinch. "We can't simply make up a name. And an announcement of any real name would require the lady's knowledge, and preferably permission. That seems unlikely."

He rubbed his forehead. He'd tried, he really had, to spend some time with the candidates Leliana had deemed acceptable. They were fine. One or two he even enjoyed, probably because they seemed to have no actual interest in him whatsoever. Being treated as a piece of furniture they were bartering for was much preferred to the ones who flirted with the relentlessness of a mabari. He hadn't realized how much Elissa's presence had spared him from the full assault that was a noble woman's pursuit. Lately he'd taken to begging Wynne to be his tablemate at dinners, to avoid the inevitable headaches that arose when he selected the wrong partner. He'd discovered when you picked at random the choice was always wrong.

None of them were women he could tolerate for an entire lifetime. Even a Grey Warden's shortened one.

He stood. "Then don't tell them anything. I'm still considering. They'll give up eventually." Three skeptical faces looked back at him. He left.

* * *

><p>Three weeks later brought the last thing they would never discuss, and the reason he planned his trip to Amaranthine. His mood darkened with the realization that the nobles might soon rise against him, not for his policies, but for his bachelorhood. He couldn't see a way out of it, except the impossible. Elissa wasn't here, might never be again, and he knew better than to try to force her to return by announcing an engagement. She'd either ignore him or dent his head with a hammer. Neither would show him in a position of strength. The dilemma was something he'd known existed, of course, but naively, stupidly, he'd hoped it would sort itself out before everything came to a head. It hadn't.<p>

As he chewed over the problem with no solution, he snapped and snarled more than he ever had, to the point where even Leliana had difficulty maintaining her smooth and neutral tones. Council meetings became strained. Dinners were impossible, as he couldn't maintain even a façade of polite interest in a woman. With the people of Denerim, he was cheerful as ever, and the policies they enacted were no different in tone, but the nobles started whispering about him more enthusiastically than ever.

After one particularly trying day of apologizing for hurting their tender feelings, he returned to his rooms exhausted. It was late and dark, and his bedchamber was lit only by the glow of a banked fire. A woman sat in its flickering light, and he reached for his sword. "Who are you? Why did my guards let you in?"

She smiled. "They didn't. I have my own methods." She stood and walked towards him. "I work for the bard, and she trained me well. You can call me Elissa."

He took in her appearance then, her auburn hair hidden in the shadows, her strong build, her dark eyes. He understood everything and shame broke inside of him even as he nodded her to the bed. He doused the fire, leaving the room in near total darkness. He spent a long minute staring at the smoke rising off of it. His anger, at Leliana, at this woman, at the real Elissa, at himself was all overcome by his need. Need that he'd been trying to suppress since he'd met her at Ostagar, a lifetime ago.

He undressed swiftly and crossed to the bed. With no light, he couldn't see her face, and he was glad. "Don't kiss me," he said, and she made no reply. He closed his eyes and did what he needed with the body underneath him. She whispered to him in a voice that could be any voice. He touched her and called her Elissa while he pictured her painfully in his mind. He woke several times in the night to find her still there, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her each time.

In the morning she was gone before he woke, and he lay in streaming sunlight for a long time thinking of his father. Wondering if it had been like this, the night he'd given Fereldan its bastard child. Maybe things weren't as simple as he'd always thought.

He found Leliana walking the walls. She didn't look at him, but stopped and stared out over the city as he approached. He stood beside her quietly. "What if she gets pregnant?" he finally asked.

"She is incapable, Alistair."

He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He jumped when she reached out and squeezed his hand. She still didn't turn her head, but her eyes looked to the distant Chantry and held pity. He walked away, and they never spoke of it again.

The woman came back for three nights, and his shame grew while his need waned. The fourth night she didn't return, and he was glad she understood. Or perhaps Leliana did. But though his mood improved, and he could tolerate the world around him more easily, he could no longer tolerate himself. He asked them to prepare a trip to Amaranthine.

* * *

><p>Now his burden slipped away from him as he rode through the gates of the castle. With the Grey Wardens he was only Alistair, and he felt a genuine smile on his face for the first time in weeks. They greeted him warmly and asked if he wanted to rest. He didn't. He wanted to move, to fight. Training with his brothers and sisters would bring him back to himself. He warmed up with the youngest recruits, delighting in their enthusiasm and eagerness for life. Happiness tumbled out of them and washed over him in waves. They stayed and talked to him after each match, and memories of his early days with his own Warden group filled him. It was like putting on an old piece of armor and finding it still fit perfectly. His old skin settled over him, and he felt whole.<p>

He was about to ask one of the more senior Wardens into the ring, to get a truer challenge, when he heard murmurs around him. He turned to their source and nearly dropped his sword. Elissa stood in front of him, unreadable as ever. She studied him, and he felt very exposed under her gaze. He hadn't been fair to her. She was much more beautiful than he remembered. Or perhaps she'd simply become so while she was away, like a flower that blossoms when it's removed from the shadow of a tree.

She spoke, but he didn't hear what she said. When she reached for a set of practice mail, he understood. She wanted to fight him. He gripped his sword. Good. He was going to win.


	10. Sparring

Elissa shrugged into her armor and tightened the straps around her. Alistair paced slowly back and forth across the circle. "You're not warmed up," he said. "There's no honor in beating a creaky enemy." His voice was light, but his eyes were dark as he watched her. She tingled with the anticipation of battle. Clearly he was as ready for this as she was.

"I practiced all morning. I'm fine. Besides, what makes you think you can beat me?"

He swung his sword in a deliberately casual figure eight. "Is Zevran here?"

The elf called out from the ledge, "Up here, Your Majesty. May I say how wonderful it is to see you again. And so much of you to see! The Hero and I were quite impressed." He leered appreciatively, and she wished she had his skill at throwing daggers.

Alistair laughed with no trace of embarrassment. "Not a majesty in these walls. Just as she's no Hero." He watched with interest as Delilah brought Elissa's sword and shield to her. Her real sword and shield, not the lighter, duller practice sets used in the yard. He flushed a little when he realized who Delilah was and touched his hand to the heart of his breastplate. The girl didn't acknowledge the gesture, only walked away. His looked back to Elissa's sword, and he motioned to one of his guards as he tossed his own practice gear aside.

Her eyes widened when she saw the sword and shield they brought him. She'd expected fine castle-made weapons, gilt-edged and strong. Instead, they were his battered old weapons, the ones she'd given him long ago, just before the end of the Blight. Sharp and well-maintained, but clearly not the best quality. She snorted. "Is the kingdom really so hard up it can't afford to outfit its king more appropriately?"

"I never found any worthy of replacing them." No laughter now. Any amusement in her fled. She'd forgotten that the duel had already started. She began a light warm-up pattern to wake up her muscles.

The Wardens around them no longer made any attempt to hide their excitement and started eagerly placing bets. Even some of the senior Wardens joined in. Others ran out to alert the rest of the keep. The King and the Hero were going to fight, even if they wore different names. She could hear the bards crafting the songs already. The thought brought a hard smile to her lips. What would Leliana think of this display? She slashed a look at Zevran. He was clearly enjoying himself, anyway. The bastard.

She stepped forward, ready to hear the signal that would begin the bout. Alistair hung back, waiting, and she raised her eyebrow at him. He obviously wasn't afraid of her, but he hesitated all the same. When he had her full attention, he sheathed his sword. With his free hand, he reached around his neck to grasp a chain she hadn't noticed he was wearing. He drew it out from under his mail slowly, until she saw the ring that hung from the end of it. Thomas's ring.

A growl rose around her, and she realized it was hers. "Taking trophies now?"

He didn't drop his gaze but spoke in a low voice. "For remembrance. As a reminder of honor. It's appropriate he's here for this, don't you think? Standing between us." He let the ring drop back to his chest.

"And which of us do you think needs the reminder?"

"Maybe we both do." She thought about the long nights she'd spent, wondering if Thomas had been the tool she'd used to leave Denerim. To do what she wanted. Could Alistair see her that clearly? His face held no answers.

She shook her head, irritated. "I have no patience for this. Either say what you mean or fight."

Then he smiled, a true smile that reached every corner of his face and banished every shadow, even the ones she hadn't seen. He stepped up to the line, drawing his sword again. She was acutely aware of his body and her own as they settled their stances across from each other. Adrenaline rushed through her, hot and strong like always, but now it carried something more. The extra flowed between them and around them, muting the voices of the growing crowd and carving them away until her world was just the two of them. She shivered.

She saw the awareness of it in his own eyes, the knife-sharp desire that neither of them could hide. She couldn't stop herself from approving. But behind it was a battle-hardness and longing for war that she approved of even more. He knew her style and wouldn't hold back as he usually did. She'd need to be clever here. She bared her teeth in a smile, and he answered it.

The signal came.

* * *

><p>Alistair expected her to rush at him. She was an aggressive warrior, overwhelming people from the outset to counter their expectations of a woman fighter. Instead she traced a light circle around him, to his weaker left side, hanging back. Waiting for him to move. He smiled. She was trying to disguise herself, keep him from exploiting his knowledge of her skills. Clever. But also a miscalculation. Never step away from your strengths against an equally strong enemy. Especially when she'd have no choice but to revert to it as the fight went on. She'd been fighting against too many weaklings lately.<p>

He pretended to take her bait and feinted to his right. She moved to respond too quickly, expecting him, but he was already slashing towards her other side. Only her superhuman speed kept his blade from making contact with her armor. She turned him aside with her shield, but left herself open to a blow to her body. He took the opening to thrust his shield at her side and was rewarded with the sound of metal on metal. He had no time to celebrate. Her sword flew back in response. It met his with a clang, and he leapt back out of reach.

She gave him a mocking smile, and he returned it as they went back to circling. He kept his eyes on her face, looking for signs of her next move. He didn't have to wait long for her aggression to surface. She lunged at him with surprising force, and they clashed again. Over and over again they tested each other, trying to wear the other down. Neither found a true advantage. She took more risks, left herself exposed to counters, but the brilliance of her technique saved her where others would have been soundly punished. He was a pure defender with a guard that was impossible to penetrate on his worst days. This wasn't one of them.

Her frustration grew with each failed assault, and he made sure to give her his most condescending smiles each time he thwarted her. Most would say that making Elissa even angrier than she already was with a sword in her hand was tempting death, but he knew he could withstand her today. He would withstand her. To provoke her was the risk he chose. To make her so angry she made a mistake. Her attacks became more daring, wilder. He heard the gasps around them at her audacity but couldn't afford to share their admiration. He concentrated.

At last it happened. She advanced too far, her feet out of position. Before she could react he was behind her, dealing a savage blow with his shield that knocked her off her feet. Even there she showed her skill, angling herself to use his force to roll away as she hit the ground, dodging his sword blow. Her sword arm twisted underneath her, and she cried out and lay still. Some of the Wardens stepped forward instinctively, but he waved them off and walked around her at a distance. "She's fine."

Her hand still gripped her sword tightly. She gave a low chuckle as she rose gracefully to her feet and faced him. She showed no pain but breathed heavily. "There was a time you would have fallen for that trick with all your chivalry."

"I've learned many things since I last saw you." He shot her an arch look. "There was a time you never would have bothered to try a trick at all. Getting worried, are you?"

Her eyes flashed. "Never. Just tired of waiting for you to give in."

He slashed at her. She skittered back, still recovering. "Funny, I could say the same thing about you." He narrowed his eyes, making sure she understood his meaning. The look on her face surprised him. It was almost apologetic.

"Alistair, I -"

He took the opening and lunged, knocking her sword away from her body. She wasn't prepared and grimaced a little as her arm wrenched backwards. He gave her no time to think and pressed his advantage, bashing the arm with his shield and forcing her to drop the weapon. He slid his sword up into killing position and held it there, waiting.

She dropped her shield as well and opened her hands in the gesture of surrender. The yard exploded in cheers and groans as the winners and losers sorted out their earnings. No one entered the circle with them, but they buzzed around in anticipation. He heard them already arguing over the tactical intricacies of their match. He lowered his sword to its sheath and closed his fist at its hilt, a sign of respect in victory. Maker but he was tired. She didn't smile, but she relaxed a little.

"Well fought. Patient and merciless. Finesse and tenacity. Your strength is the strength of Fereldan, and I'm no match for it," she said quietly. She took in the cheering crowd. "You've won the hearts of your people."

"Not all of them."

"The ones who matter." She met his eyes again. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. But he wouldn't beg. Kings didn't.

"Please come back," his traitorous mouth said. "Please. We need you." Guilt nipped at him for saying it, asking her to leave the life she wanted, but he was tired of hiding the things that were true.

A bead of sweat slid its way down her neck onto her collarbone as he watched. She traced the chain of his pendant with her eyes, and he felt them as if they were fingers trailing along his skin. He tried to breathe. A memory of a body that wasn't hers flashed into his mind, and he hissed lightly. She shook her head. "No. Maybe…" She didn't finish the thought. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wished he was brave enough to demand she tell him. She stepped away. "Watch your back. Fereldan can't afford to lose you."

He tried to think of something clever to say that would make her stay. Before he came up with anything, she gave him a questioning look. "You still haven't chosen a wife?"

"Oh yes, I have. But she's a wanderer, hard to pin down. And I don't think she likes me very much."

Her cheeks colored just a little. "No one wanders forever. Maker watch over you, Alistair." She picked up her weapons and walked out of the circle, ending the match. Wardens crowded around him, offering congratulations and praise. By the time he'd accepted all of their compliments and looked again, Elissa and Zevran were gone.

* * *

><p>He returned to Denerim with a lighter heart, buoyed by hope he barely allowed himself to feel. It quickly became his only comfort when he found a city boiling over with rumors and tales. How he'd thrown over Lady Elissa Cousland and banned her from the city only to have her ride through Fereldan fighting a quiet war against him. How he'd fallen in love with another woman, a noble woman, who'd been seen entering his bedroom late at night. How Lady Cousland's jealousy was so great that his advisors feared for both their lives. How he'd gone to the Grey Warden fortress to confront her, challenged her to single combat and won. How he'd demanded she surrender to his will and support his new queen. How she'd vanished, furious and vowing revenge even as her defeat tied her hands.<p>

All of Fereldan knew the story. Leliana swore she had no idea where the rumors originated, how they'd been spread, or why they were suddenly everywhere. He almost believed her, except that she knew everything, so how could he?

He clung to the things he knew weren't true as a shield against the things he feared were. She hadn't been angry at him when they fought, or at least not for the reasons the stories claimed. But had she heard about the woman? Was she furious now? Leliana received no further reports from her, and he chewed on the worry endlessly. He reasoned with it as best he could. He would explain it to her. It wasn't something that would make her angry when she knew what it meant. She'd all but promised she would return, even if she didn't like him.

* * *

><p>Two months later the guards woke him at dawn. As he dressed, with Leliana listening intently, they told him they'd found the Hero of Fereldan sneaking into the castle. She carried poison-tipped daggers and had made it all the way to the royal wing before she'd been apprehended. She'd wounded four guards in the struggle to escape. A letter detailing her reasons for assassinating the King had been found in her pouch, ready to leave next to his body. It used extremely vulgar terms about him and his new lady. They were holding her and her elf conspirator in the cells below.<p>

Leliana looked at him with no expression, and he knew he returned the same. He put command into his voice. The hardness was already there. "I want to talk to the elf."


	11. Seeming

Zevran came to them in chains with a half a dozen guards alongside. He rattled them when he got close. "If you wanted me tied up, all you needed to do was ask. All this fuss was not necessary." Alistair didn't respond, only motioned the guards to drag him down the hall. "There are perhaps a few too many other people here, though. Even my legendary stamina has its limits."

"Shut up," he growled.

"You could gag me. Though it is extremely difficult to do safely, so please be careful."

Alistair gritted his teeth and resolved to stay quiet. He let Leliana take point, and she led them through a dizzying maze of corridors underneath the palace. The old dungeons were extensive. After a while, he started to hope someone was dropping bread crumbs behind them. King lost inside own castle, forced to eat rats, was not something he wanted to add to his day. At last she stopped in front of a door that looked no different from any other and pushed it open. The room was grimy and cobwebbed inside but had low stone benches and a ring in the center of the floor for restraining prisoners. He nodded to it, and the guards swiftly looped Zevran's chains through it. They moved to flank him.

He held up his hand. "Please take up positions in the corridor to make sure we aren't interrupted." They looked uncertain. He drew his sword and tried to make his voice reassuring. "Leliana and I have handled much worse things than a tied up elf. The threats from outside are much more lethal."

The guards saluted and filed out of the room. He slammed the door behind them with enough force to dislodge some dust. Zevran watched him insolently, but he was sure he saw a little worry on his face. Good. Leliana said nothing, only stood quietly.

"Okay, Zevran. What's going on?" No reaction. He tried again, leaning closer. "What's the game?"

"Assassination is hardly a game."

"It is the way you do it. But that doesn't matter. Whatever this is, it isn't an assassination," he said. Zevran raised his eyebrow and shrugged. Alistair's temper rose. "Look, if the two of you wanted me dead, why did you send her? You're an actual assassin, even if you weren't that good at it. Elissa is terrible at stealth work. We all remember the time we tried to get past a small group of darkspawn, and she ran into a tree and swore so loudly we had the whole horde on top of us. It's a miracle she made it as far as she did, not to mention a severe blow to my faith in my guards' abilities to protect me."

"Perhaps she merely wanted to kill you herself," said Zevran. "As a truly exemplary assassin I can tell you that there are few greater pleasures than personally causing the death of a target you despise."

He sheathed his sword. "Fine. Let's say that's true. Why like this? Even if I believed Elissa was stupid enough to put stock in rumor, even if I believed she would care enough about me accepting another woman to want to kill me, and even if I believed she had so little self-control as to actually attempt it, sneaking into the castle in the dead of night with poisoned daggers is absolutely something I do not believe. No matter what she thought was happening, she knows she could get close enough, get me vulnerable enough, to assassinate me any time she wanted without breaking a sweat." He considered. "Well, not much of one."

Zevran's face broke into a smile. "Very good! Your first innuendo. I feel as a proud parent would." Alistair folded his arms. The Antivan looked at him speculatively. "We did not think these points would strike you. This makes things easier, in ways, but infinitely more dangerous."

"You thought Leliana and I wouldn't figure it out?" Leliana chuckled softly.

Zevran grinned. "No. We knew she would."

He rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. The damn dog still gets more respect than I do. So what is going on?"

"This is a thing you cannot know. It's dangerous enough for her that you weren't fooled."

"She's in danger and you expect me to accept it blindly and without question? And you think I'm an idiot?" He glowered at the elf, who for once stared back without a hint of irony or bravado. Whatever multitude of things he was lying about, he wasn't lying about this. Alistair tapped his foot in irritation.

"It may be for the best," said Leliana. "Being blind can sharpen other senses."

"Yeah, and it can also break your foot on the table you don't see in the dark." He looked at her. "You already know, don't you."

"I know nothing, Your Highness." She emphasized the second word slightly.

He made a face. "Oh, I see. You just have an extremely educated guess." She smiled. He paced back and forth. One more thing that was known but not said. One too many things, this time. "I have to do something to help. I will go crazy if I don't, and that's very dangerous for both of you."

Zevran sighed. "There are two things you can do. But you must do them perfectly."

He waited.

"One, you can go to her cell and have a very loud, very convincing fight with her. You must bait her, hate her, blame her and be a truly reprehensible creature. Two, you can hit me in the face."

"Oh, good. I thought you were going to ask me to do something difficult. Now, which side would you prefer?"

* * *

><p>He slowed as he reached the cells that housed the palace's prisoners and waved away the guard who'd led him back. Despite his bluster, he was worried. He wasn't good at holding his anger. It slipped away so quickly, especially in the face of her, but he couldn't let that happen here. More to the point, if what Zevran said was true, she wouldn't be expecting him to be acting. She might think it was real, and she did hold onto things, very tightly. If he truly hurt her, she might never come back.<p>

If he didn't do this, she might not be safe.

That decided him. He took several minutes to collect himself. He remember something Leliana had told her people in his presence. Never put on an act. Once you do, you're dead. Make it real. Find what you need to be inside yourself. It's always there. He looked for the small springs of anger inside of him. Start away, start young. His father, for conceiving him and ignoring him. Eamon and Isolde, for taking him and resenting him. The Templars, for never letting him fit. The Wardens, for dying when he needed them so much. Loghain. Traitor and murderer. The rage he'd felt when he thought they would let him live, the sword he'd picked up and used without hesitation. All those distant hurts. Like teasing small twigs onto a fire, feeding it, making it stronger.

Now Elissa. Bigger branches, harder to catch alight. Forget the good, the fearless, the strong. Remember the bad. Killing Isolde, taking part in blood magic right in front of him without a twitch. Dismissing it as what was needed. Dismissing him. Sitting in camp with dead eyes, withdrawing away from them all as the end drew nearer. Hiding the method of her salvation from him. Craving death, always searching for it alone, keeping him away from her choices. Leaving him to face rule without help. Writing a note of her guilt that she knew he would never use, to torture him in her absence. Loving someone who wasn't him.

At the last, the fire inside of him blazed high, and he knew he'd found what he needed. He drew out the ring he always wore around his neck. Thomas Howe, the man with honor who'd captured her. Him, the man without it who never would. She'd handed him the weight of a country then held its needs against him and turned to someone else.

He felt a hard smile on his lips and walked towards the cells. Anger walked with him, and a small, terrified part of himself wondered if this was how she felt all the time.

* * *

><p>He saw her standing in her cage long before she saw him. She looked down at the floor and clenched and unclenched her fists. No privileges of a noble prisoner for an attempted king killer. She wore a prisoner's brown sack-cloth and bruises showed clearly on her arms and face where she'd fought. Her lip was broken, likely from a caught elbow, but he felt nothing but satisfaction riding the wave of his fury. He strode to the bars with quick steps and leaned against them. "Weren't happy with being beaten only once, then?"<p>

Her head snapped up in shock. Her eyes narrowed, and before he could react she flew at the bars with a savage growl, like a wild animal. He caught the wrists that reached through in his hands, and the strength in them was a little terrifying. Guards stepped up next to him, but he shook his head. He gripped her hard enough to bruise and shoved her back into the cell. She fell backwards and glared up at him from the floor. Hold off concern. Be cold. Use everything.

He brushed off his clothes. "You never were a very good loser."

"And you were always a fool." Her voice was cracked and dry. "You think I can't kill you through these bars?"

He laughed. "I know you can't. We both know who's more powerful. It will never be you." He crossed his arms. "The guards showed me your note. So touching. The Hero of Fereldan, just a heartsick little girl underneath it all. Not so strong as they all think."

"You bastard."

"So they kept reminding me. But look at me now. So close to having everything I could want. No thanks to you. Or maybe I should thank you, after all."

"For what?" she spat.

"I was going to share this all with you, you know. It seemed only right after dragging you along so far. Your name is worth quite a bit. And you're not terrible to look at." He hated himself for the look he raked over her body. "But thanks to your betrayal, now I've had a woman who actually knows how to be a woman instead of just a brute. Without all the scars."

She swore at him. "See?" he said mildly.

"I never betrayed anything. You're the one who ran to another the instant he had half a chance. I should have known." Her eyes held mockery. "The son is the mirror of his father."

He let his anger loose. "You didn't betray me? Thomas Howe was to die by the executioner's axe, not poisoned by a spurned, sex-crazed noblewoman angry she wouldn't get everything she wanted out of him before he died." She paled. "You thought I didn't notice? Please. Tell me, was it only about sex? Surely not anything more material than that, given his lower-than-peasant status. Or did you think you loved him before he died a traitor?"

She lifted her chin. "At least he knew how to be a noble. At least he knew how to be good, not just act it. And he knew what to do with a woman when he had her. Maker knows I wouldn't have been able to tolerate only you."

"Spoken like the washerwoman who disparages the finery she'll never have." He shifted on his feet, looking for words. "You nobles are all the same. Trying so hard to be more than you are, but petty children inside, always throwing tantrums when they don't get their way. Only when a child throws a tantrum, she knocks over a few blocks. When you throw a tantrum, you try to destroy a country. Anora was no different from you, just a lot smarter. And less bloodthirsty."

She stood at that. "I should have put Anora on the throne instead of you. More fool I. I thought you'd show some skill. I thought you'd do good, for me and the country. Instead I saw what I should have always seen. Your commoner sensibilities and appetites will destroy us. Do you know how much I've had to fix that you've broken?"

"Tell that to my people, Lady. They seem very pleased."

"You think they're loyal to you?" She snorted. "You're the man on a coin passing strange laws that help no one. I'm the one who's lived with them, aided them. They love me as they'll never love you. If you try to harm me, they'll rebel."

He wondered if she knew what he was doing. He wondered what she wanted him to say. He had to think of a reason to keep her alive. "Perhaps. Perhaps it won't come to that. Tell me who you're working for, and I'll consider leniency. For our shared past."

Her eyes lit in triumph. "I'm not working for anyone."

"You lie. You're a simple weapon, good for nothing but going where you're pointed. Someone pointed you at me. Who was it?" She stared at him, silent. He turned to the guard. "Put Lady Cousland on bread and water for three days. Do her no other harm. I'll be back."

As he started to walk away, she called after him. "Three days? So little faith in my ability to sustain hatred. Why not a week?"

He spun back and tried to figure out the message, covering it with a glare. "What an excellent idea. A week it is." He threw her a cruel smile. "And put her in Thomas Howe's cell. She should be close to her lover during this time."

The growls rose again, and she slammed up against her cage. When she hit it, her arm twisted awkwardly underneath her, and she cried out. His mind flashed back to Amaranthine, fighting in the circle. She was letting him see the trick. Why would she do it, if she thought he knew? Why would she show him, if she thought he didn't? He tried not to show any confusion as he walked away. "Be careful, Lady. I wouldn't want too much harm to befall you before I've gotten what I wanted," he said over his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Elissa watched him leave with careful hate in her eyes, wondering if she'd done something stupid. She hadn't expected him to come to see her so soon. She hadn't been ready. And his anger had surprised her, though it had been easier to work with than the hurt or confusion she'd expected. Hopefully most of her fellow prisoners had heard them. Certainly most of the guards had. Words like a stone into a pond, and now she would wait for the ripples to come back.<p>

She kept her face hard as the guards dragged her to her new cell, though inside she worried. He'd been so angry. She'd thought it both real and unreal in turns. Surely he didn't think of her as a brute or as powerless. But he spoke of another woman confidently, like he was remembering something true. And what he'd said about Thomas. It was too specific, too strange to be an act. That blow she hadn't been prepared for, and it had thrown her badly. To be blamed for his death, yes, that she'd anticipated. It was true enough and a betrayal she owned. But loving him? Is that why Alistair thought she'd left? The uncertainty ate at her even while she fought him, and she hadn't been able to let him go without trying to show him that there were poses being struck. A mistake, probably. The problem with the parts of herself she'd collected over the last year was that not all of them were able to do what was needed.

She hoped it wouldn't cost too much.

They threw her into Thomas's old cell and left. She sat on the bed where he'd died and stared at the floor again. She worked her hands into fists over and over again. Waiting.


	12. Serving

Alistair knew it wouldn't be wise to head back to Leliana and Zevran, even if he could find them on his own. He went to his quarters instead. No one who'd witnessed their fight challenged his order for solitude, though there were double the number of guards in the hall as usual. Rather like buying a guard dog after the silver had been taken, but he understood their need to be doing something useful. He paced the length of his chambers, feeling anything but.

Eventually Leliana arrived, and he told her everything that had happened as best he could remember. The usually stoic spymaster couldn't restrain her giggles as he recounted the insults they'd thrown, even after he gave her several nasty looks. "Oh, Zevran will be so disappointed he missed it. Your arguments were always the best entertainment we could have hoped for in camp."

"They didn't feel very funny to me."

"Of course not. That was why they were." She subsided. "So she asked for a week. Interesting."

"I don't even know if it was a message. I couldn't tell if she was fooled."

"Even if it was just manipulation, it still shows what she wanted." She tapped her foot, thinking.

"What does it mean?"

"It could mean many things. Perhaps she's waiting for something else to happen. Perhaps someone else will join her. But it does take a week for every guard to work their way through the cell rotation." She stood up. "The only thing to be done is to give her the time she wants. In the meantime, we work on Zevran. You may need to hit him a few more times."

* * *

><p>Elissa lay in her cell and realized how much she'd underestimated the hardships of jail. Thomas had always seemed relatively cheerful, comfortable even. She should have known he was putting on a show. Then again, he hadn't been crazy enough to pick a fight with the palace guard and then demand a terrible diet. No, only she was that smart. Every part of her ached, from her bruised arms to her head to her stomach. That alone would have prevented her from sleeping, but the guards also did their part. They'd left her unhurt, per orders, but every time she fell asleep for even a little bit, they rattled the bars of her cage or dropped something heavy on the floor to jolt her awake. She hoped they would tire of it soon if she made no protest, but so far they hadn't.<p>

Two days in and exhaustion was making it hard to think, blurring the edges of her mind. It was hard to hold on to her sense of self and purpose. She let herself drift away when she could and saved her strength for when she would need it.

The next night, it happened. She was dozing lightly when her sleeping mind realized someone was in the cell with her. She sat up quickly, hissing at the agony it produced in her muscles. She saw a male guard sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her. He'd been there with Alistair. "If you're going to rape me, please get it over with," she said. Her voice wavered, only partially an act. There was no one else around.

He smiled. "Against orders. I think the King must be saving you up for himself."

"He's welcome to try. I'll kill him first."

"But not me? Interesting."

She swung her feet over the side of the bed. She held on to the frame, trying not to pass out. "I probably only have one kill left before I'm executed. I'm saving it."

"So, why did you do it?" He looked at her seriously.

"Did he send you in here to interrogate me? He must think I'm an idiot."

"No, not him. Friends of mine that may be friends we have in common. The Sentinels."

She hid her joy deep inside herself. "May she rise again," she said tiredly, absently, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She looked at him sideways.

He raised his eyebrows. "So they were right. You are a friend." He looked around him. "What in Andraste's name were you thinking?"

"They were taking too long," she growled. "I want him dead."

"Things aren't yet in place. You could have toppled everything. Why risk it?" She bit her lip and looked down. He chuckled. "So this really is about jealousy."

She scoffed as her face twisted. "Hardly. He promised me things, power. He took them away. No one breaks their word to me."

"Call it what you want, it's plain to see what it is. For what it's worth, a lady friend of mine who works in the residence saw her leave his room once, early in the morning. She said she wasn't as pretty as you, for all she had your likeness." He took in her appearance. "Well, as pretty as you were anyway. She won't last. You didn't have to rush."

A stone in the pit of her stomach. Her head tired, full of clouds. She wanted to slip away and grieve for something she hadn't realized she still wanted. Her iron-forged heart took over and reminded her of her duty. "I'm tired of waiting."

"As are we all. It's close now. You could help us instead of throwing yourself on a sword. The Queen can use all allies."

She chuckled softly. "I'm sure she can. She would use me and throw me away. She'll never forgive me for what I chose." She closed her eyes. "I'm dead if I do this."

"Maybe. Maybe not. She forgives when needed. And even if you are, how long will you live anyway, here? How long will that bastard King let you live, and what will he do to you before you die? With us, you can have what you desire."

"What do you propose?"

"I don't propose anything. I'm here to feel you out. There are some who think you're a traitor, sent by the King to entrap us." She laughed harshly. He smiled. "I agree. But it's not my choice. This is why you're talking to me. If you turn, who am I? Nothing, no one. Safe."

He stood up. "Keep watching, Lady Cousland. A decision will be made." He paused at the door and looked back at her with something like pity. "Sleep tonight. You won't be disturbed."

She thanked him and settled back into bed. She rolled to the wall and glared at it fiercely until exhaustion took her against her will. In the Fade she ran through crowds of faceless women who looked just like her.

* * *

><p>The rest revitalized her, sharpened her mind again. She affected dullness as her mind spun. The guards tired of her quickly, of her stupid mind and weak replies, and took to harassing other prisoners. This helped. She watched the guard who'd come to her without watching him, noting who he spoke to, where he gestured, what prisoners were included and excluded from his attentions. Every movement meant something. She catalogued them all and spent her time repeating the information to herself to keep it fresh. It soon became clear that one guard, a captain, was the one they all deferred to. This was the one she needed to convince, to gain Anora's grudging trust.<p>

When Zevran had first learned of her involvement, Elissa had almost slapped herself for her stupidity. Of course it was her. Greedy, ambitious, and always convinced people would bow to her. Just like her father. She played society well, for a woman who hadn't been born to it, but she overestimated her own appeal. Elissa had crossed paths with her several times at social functions and had only been impressed with her own lack of perspective. Her marriage to Cailan had been more a product of her father's goodwill in the court than any true devotion to her personally, but it hadn't stopped her from believing herself raised above them all. Especially the daughter of a lifetime Teyrn, one with ancient noble blood.

The guard had been sincere, she was sure, but he was delusional if he thought Anora would ever let her live. Even if she hadn't let Alistair kill her father, even if she hadn't locked her in a cell with her words, Anora had and always would hate her for being born to so many of the things she wanted. Elissa was the one the ladies deferred to, not her, even when she didn't seek their attention, and Anora burned inside because of it. Not that Elissa had made herself easy to like. Cutting remarks, social jabs that went just above her head, trapping her into doing foolish things. All parts of the happy games she'd played when she thought the world was so small. The only thing Lady Cousland and the Hero of Fereldan had in common was that they had no patience with people who challenged them. And they were both swift in their reprisals.

The one thing she hadn't done was seduce her husband away, and that was mostly because Cailan was too busy playing soldiers and heroes to notice if anyone tried to seduce him. Thank the Maker for His small graces.

The fact that she might have if she could, and that she'd done so many other petty things to this woman in the name of something so stupid as society, is what had made her push so hard to keep her alive. They hadn't needed a backup plan. Alistair would rule. Elissa would no more have let him die than let her sword fall from her grasp. But to let Anora live to pay for Elissa's behavior only seemed fair. She should have known it would lead nowhere good.

The biggest surprise was how large her following seemed to be, and how well-connected. It wasn't a matter of lopping off the head, not now. They had to destroy the whole snake.

* * *

><p>Zevran came to her on the sixth day of her imprisonment. He had bruises on his face from being struck, but he wore his usual clean and tailored clothes and didn't move as if he were seriously injured. He must have finally convinced Leliana of his truth, to let him out and come to her. She was relieved. The hunger might make her forget, soon. Before he'd even made it to the bars she started signing him what she knew, the names she'd memorized, the network that was being exposed. She'd cycle through it as many times as she could before he left and hope he could remember. He'd sworn he would, that the Crow's signs were nothing he could ever forget once seen.<p>

Of course, it wouldn't do to have her be seen at it. "So they finally found your price?" Her voice cracked, no strength left in it.

He laughed. "Of course."

"I thought you were my friend. I thought you had some loyalty."

"You know better than anyone, my dear, that my loyalty is to whomever is pointing the biggest sword at my heart. You, I fear, have a very small sword indeed these days."

They argued back and forth for some time, less heatedly than she had with Alistair. Zevran's implacable demeanor and her own exhaustion made such energy impossible. She was cycling through her information for the fifth time when he leaned forward. "The King sent me to try to talk reason to you. After much bruising, I managed to convince him I knew nothing of our mysterious employers. He still demands I ask you. I could have told him it was foolish, but he does carry the sword. I go where it points. Will you not tell, to save yourself? Turning traitor is not so bad as it seems, my friend."

His eyes begged her to understand his words. She tried to focus, to listen to what he was saying. She was so weak. It was hard to think. But when she replayed them she realized. Alistair had sent him. Not Leliana. The King knew. He was a part of it.

Her mind raced with a clarity borne of fear. Keeping him innocent was her only goal. It was why she was in this alone. If Anora realized there were people with power who knew, she might accelerate her plans. He might not be safe. And she would be stuck in this cell, unable to do anything about it. Leliana's own people were part of the conspiracy. It was too dangerous now. She couldn't afford to wait to be accepted. And at that thought, she saw. She rose to her feet, summoning the last reserves of her energy, and shouted obscenities at the elf while her fingers worked a new message. His eyes widened at the onslaught and at her message. He shook his head slightly, and she slapped the bars for emphasis as strongly as she could.

As the weak rattle filled the air, Zevran sighed and walked away.


	13. Switching

Zevran spoke to Leliana first when he returned, taking what Alistair thought was unnecessary pleasure in excluding him from the discussion. He read the same page of a diplomatic report over and over again while he fumed. Eventually they joined him, faces carefully neutral. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing," said Leliana. "She's been very successful in her mission, and I have a good start on what I need to continue it."

"Whatever that mission is," he muttered. He peered at them both. "If that's true, why the faces?"

Zevran shifted. "Elissa fears we no longer have time to wait for things to progress naturally. She wants the illusion of your enmity to be complete."

"Does she want me to go and yell at her again?"

"Yelling will not be sufficient, Your Grace. Something more graphic is required. I suggest whipping, in the prison, as a means of interrogation."

He stared. "Absolutely not. Completely out of the question." He rose out of his chair. "And if this is all leading to some kind of sex joke, Zevran, believe me when I say that I'm not going to laugh."

Leliana stepped towards him. "It's not a joke. She thinks it's necessary."

"So when you said that you suggest whipping, what you actually meant is that she did?" he asked Zevran.

The elf winced slightly. "She suggested something worse that I will not repeat. This would be a compromise." Alistair sat back down. Something worse? Maker preserve them, was she insane? He looked at his feet, thankful that his imagination was too limited to even start guessing. Zevran asked quietly, "Do you trust her?"

"Of course I don't. She's a self-sacrificing idiot who would hurt herself a hundred times over to stop someone else stubbing their toe," he snapped. "She would have cheerfully died to save me from unpleasant sex. Whenever she says something is necessary, and that something involves her own pain, I never trust her."

Zevran smiled a little. "All granted. Which is why it's important that I am the one who brings the message, not her. I would not do so lightly."

"I don't care. I won't." He didn't want to cause her that kind of pain, even at her request. He hadn't let her die, and he would shield her from this, too.

"She won't thank you for your refusal," said Leliana.

"Why should this be the first time?" He rubbed his forehead. "When I stop her from hurting herself, she hates me. When I hurt her, she runs. If I can't win, at least she'll be whole and alive if I refuse."

"Will she?"

Zevran's voice was mild, but Alistair jerked back as if he'd been slapped. He glared at the elf. "Tell me."

Leliana answered. "There are people who wish both of you harm. She is vulnerable. But we're not in a position to move her out of it without tipping our hand." He tried to read them, to see if this was true or pure manipulation, but he stood no chance. They were more skilled at deception than he would ever be, and they knew they held an unbeatable card. He nodded.

"She will look weaker than you remember her. You cannot show concern," said Zevran. He didn't answer, simply stood up. "You must be convincing. No pity."

He shrugged out of his shirt and put on a new one. One that he could burn later. "I'll do what I have to."

* * *

><p>"Zevran said you weren't forthcoming. A shame."<p>

She looked at him through tired eyes from the floor of her cell. Her cheekbones were prominent and her body had lost enough of its strength to bruise his heart, but he pushed it away. She smiled bitterly. "If he was the carrot, are you the stick? Neither will work on me. I'm stronger than you."

At his signal, they opened the cage and brought her out. Leliana had subtly chosen his guard, and their captain gripped her arms roughly while Alistair asked his meaningless questions and heard her refusals again and again. And then it was time, and the man with the whip held it high as they forced her to the floor. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and he was glad because he knew to pay his part he couldn't look away. He unfocused his eyes. He stared at her hands, rough and scarred from fighting, and pretended they were someone else's. Just a body. Not her. He did this to a body that wasn't her to keep her safe.

She made no noise, and the only sound was the whistling of the lash. The times he couldn't stop himself from glancing at her face, he saw no tears fall. As the sounds went on and his mind continued to shut down pieces of itself in rebellion, he realized with new clarity that she wasn't the only one hurting herself anymore. Physical pain would have been easier to take than this, and he felt himself losing control. He fought to find some of her nature inside him. Sacrificing a piece of himself to do what other people needed. All of his life's biggest sacrifices had been chosen for him. When had he had to step to the line, to true pain, of his own volition? And now he was the most powerful man in the country. When would he ever have to choose against himself, with that much at his command?

Then he realized. Morrigan. Thomas. The two sides of a coin that both had Elissa's face. It existed in him to cut himself so others wouldn't bleed, and he clung to that knowledge with everything in him. When the slap of leather on skin finally, mercifully stopped, his voice didn't shake. "Will you tell me who you work for now?"

"No," she said. Her eyes were still closed, and her voice was full of the pain she hadn't expressed. Blood, her blood, dripped onto the floor, and he couldn't hold on any longer.

He knelt in front of her. This was stupid, this was too far, but he had to do something to take it back. Even if just for himself. He touched her cheek with his hand and her eyes flew open in surprise. They were dark and hazy and so familiar even in exhaustion. He ran his thumb over her face and tried to send her comfort even as he kept his tone even. "I don't want to do this to you again. Tell me." She tried to spit at him, but her mouth was too dry. He clenched his jaw and stood. He nodded the guards back to her cell. "Until next time."

He walked back to his room with a measured step. No one spoke to him, and he knew his face was the reason why. Zevran and Leliana were waiting for him, to throw his clothes into the fire and give him the comfort she wouldn't have. He barely made it into the room before he was thoroughly sick.

* * *

><p>Elissa's back screamed agony when they took her back, though they were gentle with her. This captain was the one she needed, the important one, and new respect lurked beneath his impassivity. She silently thanked Leliana. They brought her no healer, but they did give her true food and a tub of clear water, and she alternated eating small bites with trying to wash her back as best she could. She allowed herself to weep as the water ran down her, stinging her. It made a good cover for her true pain. <em>I'm sorry<em>, she thought to Alistair. He had done very well, but it was obvious to her how much she'd just hurt him. Probably even more than she'd hurt herself. He'd taken it bravely, and she thought, not for the first time, that the nation had named the wrong Warden its Hero. She didn't deserve the title. She didn't deserve her friends.

Zevran's bruised face. Leliana's accusing eyes. Alistair's anguish on her behalf. All she did was give them pain.

* * *

><p>The captain came to her cell that night and spoke in low tones. "May she rise again. She wants to speak with you."<p>

She laughed, more harshly than she intended. "Of course. My days are quite open. Tell her to stop by any time." When he frowned, she quickly apologized. "I'm sorry. I fear my manners have been stripped away."

His face relaxed a little, and he tipped his head to her. "You were brave, Lady. You didn't break. It's not yet trust, but it's a beginning. She wants to judge your sincerity."

"I will prove it. Anything if it ends in the bastard's death. But I still don't know what use I can be from here."

"Then you shouldn't be here." She raised an eyebrow. "You're a noble. You should be housed in the Tower, by right."

"They'll never let me up there now." Just a little closer. Let him feed her the idea on his own.

"They will if you bargain for it. Confess something. Give them a name. In exchange, you go to the Tower. The Queen will be waiting to see you."

Elissa had no doubt she would be waiting. Probably with a dagger in her hand. She wondered again if these men were sincere and ignorant or better liars than she thought. "I don't have a name to give them. At least none that would be… appropriate to release."

"Make something up. It will take them a few weeks to investigate. That's all we need."

So soon. Even closer than she'd suspected. "Well then. Please tell His Highness I wish to speak to him."

* * *

><p>When she arrived in the interrogation room, it wasn't Alistair waiting. It was Leliana. The bard's eyes were dangerous, and she spun a sharp, deadly arrow in her fingers. Elissa felt a shiver of genuine fear. She hadn't forgotten the terms they'd parted on. There was no worry that she would give them away. She trusted Leliana with her life. More to the point, she trusted her with Alistair's life. Leliana was too shrewd not to see the threat now, even if it had been hidden from her for too long. She wouldn't jeopardize anything. But that didn't mean she wouldn't put on a show that gratified her own anger with the Hero for leaving. The guard captain watched closely.<p>

It started immediately, when she instructed them to chain Elissa's hands behind her back as she sat. The pain as her muscles shifted behind her was exquisite, and she felt cuts open and drip blood. She fought, unsuccessfully, to keep her face emotionless, and Leliana smiled a smile that was not quite nice. "I'm told you wish to speak," she said in her cultured Orlesian accents.

"To the King, not his trained pets."

"I represent His Majesty. I will determine the truth of your statements. I hold your life in my hands." She twirled the arrow casually. "Take care with me, Hero."

"Information for favors. This is what I offer." Leliana motioned for her to make her demands, and she outlined them quickly, asking for much more than she could expect to receive. Starting the bargaining. They worked quickly through the stages, Leliana circling behind her periodically. She braced for a blow each time, partly in show, partly in true nerves. This bard was too good at her job and full of a coiled energy that she didn't trust. Leliana's smirk at her wariness was infuriating.

Eventually they settled the deal, snarling and spitting politely throughout, and she had the access to the Queen she needed. In trade she gave them a smuggler group at a distant inn, one that hurt people. They'd never asked her to do anything, of course, but they were real enough and if Leliana was as ruthless as she could be, at least they would deserve it.

"Don't get too comfortable in the Tower. The Crown gives away nothing for long," said Leliana.

"It will be nice for a few weeks anyway. Tell Alistair I look forward to seeing him again very soon," she answered. "I won't miss next time."

Leliana pounded the arrow into the table in front of her, driving it deeply into the wood. Impossible to tell where the pose ended and the woman began. "One day Fereldan will have no need of you, Lady." She put dark sarcasm into the final word. "On that day, I won't miss either."

* * *

><p>Entering the Tower was like walking into the Golden City after her time in the dank dungeons. She was still restricted in freedom, still had only one room, but what a room it was. Furnished lightly but comfortably, walls of stone instead of iron bars, even a window to true fresh air instead of the stable yards. There were books in a small case and paper and ink for writing if she chose. She wouldn't choose, of course. They would read every word. As the wind gusted in over the desk she realized that the only thing that smelled sour in the place was herself. They gave her fresh clothes, comfortable but not fine, and she washed herself as best she could. They even gave her a healing poultice, not sufficient to remove the marks on her back but enough to seal up the bleeding, if she was careful.<p>

The biggest surprise came at the meal. Instead of bringing them to her room, the doors opened and they bound her lightly. She followed them through the stone hallways, confused, until they reached a set of double doors. They opened them and walked her in, then released her bonds and locked the door behind them as they left. She barely noticed, staring at the woman sitting at a table laden with food. She was blonde and imperious and wore a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Those demanded social graces and fawning with a determination that wouldn't be refused.

Elissa sank into a small curtsy. "Your Majesty."

"So kind of you to remember. It's such a time since we last met, my dear. Let's see, when was it?" Anora tapped her finger on her chin. "I seem to remember it being a very important day."

She said nothing. Anora didn't want a conversation, she wanted to deliver a lecture. No sense in provoking her.

"Ah yes of course. The Landsmeet. Where you stripped me of my crown, killed my father, and threw me in prison for life. You had such a busy day! And now here we are together again. One of us a little worse for wear, I have to say." She curled her lip and looked at Elissa with disdain. She fought to control her temper, to let it slip only a little. Only a useful amount.

"Your father was a traitor. He almost destroyed this nation. He killed your husband, if you remember. I don't regret that." She let her shoulders slump slightly. "The others, yes, those I regret. I chose the wrong path. It should have been you."

"Such honesty! Such humility! Your time away from court has made you so different. Almost too different to believe. Where is your fierce loyalty to your handsome Grey Warden? You were very passionate about him."

"His loyalty turned out to be to power, not to me. I trusted him too much." Anora nodded condescendingly, and Elissa wanted to laugh at how sure she was in her own narrative of the world. She continued, "As soon as he had power, he was no longer controllable. He made the wrong decisions, went against my will. I had to correct his mistakes. He took another while I was away, in his ill-bred way. An insult I couldn't bear. He's not fit to rule."

"Ah yes, I heard about poor little Thomas Howe. He was always such a sweet boy. Surely not your lover, though, with his ideas? They claimed you said he was." Anora raised an eyebrow.

Elissa laughed. "No. Just a lie to get under the King's skin. He's not nearly sophisticated enough to see through it. Another one of his problems." She shifted a little, let another flash of anger show through. "I can't let him think he was the only one capable of betrayal."

Anora's eyes mocked her. "Yes, the Lady Elissa Cousland, never denied anything. The thought of any man refusing you is, I'm sure, inconceivable. Always in control, doted on by her parents and strangers alike. Always the center of the room, always the one who got what she wanted. Falling short of nothing she desired, save the title of Queen. It must be hard for you to realize there's something you can't have."

"I don't want it. The title belongs to you. Your cause is mine."

"You lie. You always wanted it. But it doesn't matter. We are on the same side, now, and as long as you're willing to serve we will stay there. But please, sit. Eat. You're skin and bones. You'll never win back the King like this."

Elissa moved to the table and sat as gracefully as she could. "I have no plans to win him back, even if I could. He's a common boor, handsome but unappealing anywhere outside of a battleground."

"But if your cause is my cause, then your plans will be my plans. They tell me Alistair still carries softness for you in his heart and punishes you only to weaken you to his later chivalry. We will use that. Eat, and we'll talk."


	14. Striking

The thing about a kingdom was that it didn't tolerate a sulking ruler, and over the next few days Alistair attended a dizzying number of social engagements, meetings, and enough Denerim business openings to feel like a merchant. He knew Leliana was doing it on purpose, to distract him, and he was grateful. Apparently whatever was supposed to happen had happened, and his part was over. He hoped it had been worth it. Though his days were packed, with no room for thought, at night he lay awake for hours, exhausted but too afraid to sleep and hear the sound of skin breaking. The Fade wasn't kind to him these days.

On the fourth day, Zevran sought him out. The Antivan had been playing his role of purchased traitor well, though Alistair could see the toll the court's nasty whispers were taking on him. His ageless eyes were tighter than usual and the movements of his hands no longer smooth and controlled. They sat in a garden together and spoke casually for a time about the most boring topics in Thedas until everyone got tired of watching the King and his newly paid-for assassin. As soon as the watchers wandered away, Zevran changed tones. He still spoke quietly, but with a new purpose. "There is one more thing I need you to do, my friend."

Alistair blanched. Zevran quickly shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I promise you. But it is something you cannot tell our dear bard." He reached into a pocket discreetly and passed him a small pouch. "You need to give this to Elissa, but without anyone noticing. The ladies think it will be me, want it to be me, but it will raise too many suspicions if I visit her now. Too many people will wonder as to my purpose. You are known to have a special interest. You can go to her. You can get close enough."

"What is it?" He knew better than to study it or test it in his hand, but he couldn't contain his curiosity. The elf only blinked. "Fine. When do you need this done?"

"As soon as possible. Today. Time grows short. And I sense that there are things that are not right." Alistair nodded his assent. "You understand that you must not be seen, though people must be watching? I know you are not trained for this. But in truth you are the only choice."

"I'll make a distraction somehow. I'll cover it up." Zevran looked skeptical. "I can do it. Really. They won't suspect me."

The Antivan sighed. "The ladies will be very angry with me for this decision, I fear."

He smiled faintly. "Welcome to the club."

* * *

><p>He went to the Tower that evening. He had no real plan as to what he would do, but he didn't have the energy to worry about it. Something would occur to him. Things had rarely just occurred to him before, but he'd learned a lot since he took the throne. He trusted his instincts. And if he couldn't think of anything, she would. Of that he had no doubt.<p>

When they arrived at her room, he had them open the door without warning. She whirled from her place by the window in shock. He saw a look of confusion flash across her face before she settled a mask of hatred over it. While they chained her hands in front of her and looped the chain through a ring in the floor to keep her still, she watched him closely. When her eyes flicked to the pocket of his pants where the pouch sat, he knew that she understood. Some of the anger on her face became real, and Alistair felt sorry for Zevran.

He was glad to see that some of the hollowness had left her face. Strength ruled once more. There were no remnants of any pain when they bound her, nothing to indicate permanent damage from anything that had happened. Her eyes were clear, not as sharp as they'd been, but nothing like the haze he'd last seen. She would be able to follow his lead.

He wondered what he was going to do. A fight would be easiest, something where he could strike her to cover the exchange, but he couldn't bring himself to even yell at her. The fact that she would accept it without question just made it worse. The same plan seemed to occur to her even as he rejected it, and she settled into an aggressive posture.

Exhaustion swept over him. He wouldn't. He knew what he needed to do.

He softened his face and stepped closer. She snarled. The guards tensed, but he kept coming until he stood only an arm's length away. "I'm glad you've seen some sense, Lady Cousland. These quarters are far more comfortable, I hope."

"It turns out pain is an excellent motivator," she said.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to hurt you, but protecting a country is not always honorable." The truth, now. No more anger or games. Let her hold tight to anger, if she had to. He had no room for it in his heart when she was so close. Her eyes were dark and beautiful and a little afraid. There was so much hurt in her because of him. No more.

"Don't," she said. She tried to move back, but her chains held her tight. "You can't make up for what you've done. Don't." Her voice shook a little. She didn't take her eyes off his face. Silently, she begged him to stop.

He couldn't. One more game was needed, Zevran said. Well, he would play one more game but this time a game of truth. He'd spin no more lies. They'd have all the distraction they wanted, wrapped up in what he needed to say. He took another step closer, and she said nothing. "I won't hurt you again. You'll come back to me, and things will be like they always should have been. I swear it in the name of the Maker." He gripped her chin lightly with his hand, and she shrank away even while her eyes softened. He knew by the way they shifted that the guards heard only warning in his words and malice in his actions. They thought he was threatening her with his attentions. He knew he was making a promise.

Her heartbeat came strong and quick under his fingers when he slid his hand around her head to hold her in place. He leaned closer and whispered, "Don't ever run from me again." He pressed his lips to hers fiercely. One small lie from his mouth to sell the rest. Instead of the soft passion he felt, he made his kiss aggressive. The guards wouldn't see love in it. They would only find intimidation. And she would be reminded not to respond.

* * *

><p>She cursed Alistair silently as he kissed her. His mouth was demanding, and she needed every inch of her dwindling self-control not to give herself completely over to him. Did he know what this was doing to her? His hand tightened in her hair possessively, and she fought a moan. Thank the Maker her hands weren't free. It was the most exquisite torture she'd ever faced. She'd almost rather be whipped again. The memory of his deliciously commanding whisper breathed inside her. Well, maybe not quite.<p>

His other hand brushed low against her body, and she shifted away instinctively. Much too dangerous. Then she remembered what he was doing. They were close for a reason. His hand, curled into a loose fist, touched her again and dropped something into her pocket. She had to admit he was clever. She was sure everyone's eyes were focused elsewhere.

After it was finished, she summoned up all of her willpower and pulled her head away from his. She glared at him, though she knew that anyone who looked in her eyes would see she was anything but angry. Fortunately only Alistair was in a position to notice. Not that the heat in his own eyes was much help. He may never care for her again, but he certainly still wanted her. She wondered what his new companion would think.

She closed her eyes to avoid giving herself away and felt him step back. "You're a pig," she spat.

"But one you seem to enjoy a great deal, Lady. I won't overstay my welcome. Until next time." He gave a slight bow and left. The guards undid her chains. They closed the door behind them, and she sank to the floor for the benefit of those she knew would be watching. But when she curled into a ball and wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shivering, it wasn't from fear. She hoped desperately that wouldn't be the last time she kissed him.

* * *

><p>She and Anora had built up an almost comfortable routine since she'd arrived. They took walks when allowed out and ate dinner together nightly while they conversed and lied to each other sweetly. The ex-Queen was given a surprising amount of freedom and power, mostly due to the loyalties among the guard she'd carefully cultivated. Elissa begrudgingly admitted that Anora was better at ensnaring people than she'd realized. At least the non-nobility. Many of their protectors were more informal servants than barriers against her escape. She'd gained quite the ascendancy from her prison cell.<p>

Elissa blamed herself for leaving. She would have known to keep a closer eye on this woman than the others had done. It never would have gotten this far had she been here.

But now she'd been given the last piece, which was the sign from Zevran and Leliana. They would move the next evening, and it was time for her to take the final step. Why Alistair had delivered the pouch she couldn't guess, and she hoped nothing was wrong. He hadn't indicated it with anything he'd said or done, so all she could do was move forward.

She touched the small ball in her pocket. Another of the Crows' deaths. It wasn't a soft one, like Thomas's, but a hard one, a fast one, one that would give Anora no time for reprisals. With luck, she would fall as her network crumbled around her, the head of the snake and the body destroyed in one fell swoop. No trials. No judgments. Just an execution that she was more than happy to perform to keep Fereldan safe. To keep him safe.

Her mind strayed to memories of Alistair over and over while she waited for night to fall. He'd been so young at Ostagar, so full of nerves and life. Only in the fighting did he reveal the seriousness that belied his joking nature. She'd noticed he liked her without seeming to notice, just another step in the dance of a Teryn's daughter, but even if she'd been emotionally ready for anyone, there hadn't been time. After Duncan had died, there'd been no more jokes for either of them. Instead of flirting recruits, they'd been survivors. It was a better bond for what they needed to do. It kept them strong and alive even through the worst times, but it was the kind of bond that bypassed the heart entirely. His handsomeness and his humor were unimportant background. The Hero of Fereldan, as she was becoming, looked only for his shield arm and his bravery.

She regretted it now, all of those moments she'd dismissed the best parts of him. Over the last year she'd wondered if Duncan really would have approved of who she'd been during the Blight. She'd been so sure he had made her this way, pushed her into this role. He'd wanted her to be serious and to do her duty. But she remembered that he'd also loved Alistair and had rescued him from unhappiness. He hadn't been all hardness, even at the end. He'd let himself be complete. She hoped, if he was watching, he liked who she'd become without him. And she hoped his unofficial son would, too, someday.

* * *

><p>She went to dinner that night in perfect calm. She should have been nervous, she supposed, but she never feared battle. This fight might happen in fine clothes instead of chainmail, but it would be no less deadly for that. She smiled inside. If all noble games were like this, she might be more interested in them again.<p>

As the doors opened, she readied herself. She carried the poison loosely in her hand. Despite the surprising luxuries of this prison, they had no servants to wait on them. She'd made sure to develop the habit of pouring the wine at the meal, both to show her subservience and to prepare the way for this. Anora would have no suspicions of her on that front now.

When she got inside, only hard-earned battle calm kept her face from falling. Anora had already poured the wine. She couldn't afford to wait, not with the grains ready to bounce out of her grip any minute. Nothing to do but pretend she hadn't noticed. She walked to the wine bottle and picked it up, moving to Anora's place. She even started to pour before seeming to realize there was already liquid in it. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Your Highness." While Anora graciously waved her away, she readjusted the glass and dropped the powder inside. She made sure the liquid inside moved, to help dissolve it before the Queen noticed.

She seemed uninterested in the glass, instead staring at Elissa's face. "Something distracting you? A certain visitor, perhaps?"

Elissa flushed, not at all pretending. With luck, it looked like anger. "Yes, it seems you were right after all. The King still wants something from me. Though I don't think it has much to do with a soft heart, from what he did." She made a face.

Anora smirked. "No, it wouldn't be. Cailan was rarely interested in that, from anyone, but the other men of the court weren't shy about their own limited wants. Very tiresome. But in this case, very fortunate."

Elissa walked to her own seat and settled back, waiting for the vague talk to begin again. "I still don't understand how you intend to use this. Unless you think he'll let me get near him with a dagger in my hand, it doesn't help us. And even Alistair isn't that trusting. I'm strong, but not strong enough to fight him hand-to-hand to the death. Not quickly enough."

"All in good time, Elissa." The ex-Queen took perverse pleasure in avoiding her honorific. She thought she twisted the knife into a frustrated prisoner. In reality it just made her blinder to the nature of the woman she dined with. "Though I will say, where men's lusts go, their loves often follow. Don't underestimate the possibility of his feelings. The guard told me that he was extremely amorous."

She shrugged casually. "Even I'm not a good enough liar to pretend to like him long enough for a real romance, if that's what you're thinking."

Anora laughed lightly, like the tinkling of bells. "Don't worry on that count." She lifted her glass off the table and raised it. "A toast, my dear. To powerful women, and the men they'll ruin with love."

Elissa reached for her own glass slowly. Something wasn't right. Instinct screamed at her to guard herself, to attack whatever was coming. But what was there to attack? Anora's face, at the end of the table. Triumphant. Expectant. Expecting what? Why was she so happy tonight? Genuinely happy, not the social mask she usually wore. Elissa's hand touched the glass, and it jolted her. Why had Anora poured the drinks tonight? She never did that. She preferred to be waited on, especially by her former rival.

Anticipation. Joy. Out of character subservience. The glass rose off the table, and she knew. She wasn't the only one who'd brought poison to the meal.

Her mind raced, looking for options. She could beat her to death, probably. Anora had little combat training. But that would be noisy, and she didn't know if the guards outside had been taken care of yet or not. She didn't know the timing of Leliana's plans and had been hoping to buy them several hours having a quiet dinner with a corpse. Or she could take the toast, and have the Queen drink with her, killing them both. Her eyes were completely unsuspicious, only eager. She would wait for Elissa to drink first, then follow suit without question.

She ran through the possibilities quickly. What would the poison be? Something gentle. Something not obvious. Something that would allow the Queen to pass it off as a natural death. Probably something that wouldn't work for hours, even, to make sure she was back in her cell by the time she collapsed. Maybe she could hold on until people got here. Alistair, Zevran and Leliana all screamed in her head, telling her not to risk it. Answered by her own voice, the Hero's voice, telling her it was the only way. Lady Cousland, agreeing, wanting to see Anora dead. And Elissa, so much in love, begging her to keep him safe. All of her scared but determined.

Everything was considered and decided before the glass was to her lips. She tilted it back and tried to make a few long swallows seem bigger than they were. The wine tasted bitter, and she wondered if it truly was or only because she knew. She kept the glass in her hand after, the better to hide how much liquid remained, and Anora chuckled softly before draining her own glass. "Why do you laugh?" asked Elissa. She had to keep her distracted.

"Oh, just life. I always knew men were fools. I loved Cailan dearly, did you know that? Every part of me thought him the most handsome and good man in the world. When I was growing up, whenever we came to the palace I looked in every corner for him. It took time, but eventually he noticed me and made me his wife. That was the last time he ever noticed me, I think, no matter how hard I tried." Her voice grew bitter and rough. "And then he died, playing childish hero. But he left me the title I'd always wanted, and I grieved his loss. And then his brother came along, so like him as to be a twin, and took that from me, too. And now he's ruining the kingdom with the family idiocy."

Her mouth twisted a little. "But he at least can show passion, unlike my husband. He's in love with you. The guards saw it. Alistair has no skill at deception. He's in love with Elissa Cousland, the girl who gets everything and appreciates nothing. He would never take you as a wife and ignore you. Probably Cailan wouldn't have either. You were born to be noticed. I was born to be nothing. But I am something, now. I will be again. And you'll be the key." She glared at Elissa, no longer dissembling. "You never knew how much I hated you. And now it's too late. Because you are just as foolish as the rest. You think I trusted you for a second? You'd turn on me the instant you could. You've always been a snake. But today the Maker showed me how you can be useful.

"You'll die tonight, and when the pretender weeps over you, when your friends are the most vulnerable with grief, your funeral will be the bloodbath I need."

A chill ran through her, and she didn't know if it was the poison or her threat against her friends. "What do you mean I'll die?"

"You'll see." Anora started to say something else, then coughed. Her hands flew to her throat. Her eyes widened. There was fury and fear in them, and a silent scream, and Elissa knew it was over.

The death was hard for all it was quiet, and she wondered where Zevran had gotten something that would do this to a person. She forced herself to watch. If she looked away, she was a coward, and she wouldn't be a coward.

Close to the end, when Anora was on the floor barely breathing, she knelt next to her. She wanted to say something cutting, to pay her back for the pain. But that would mean she was a monster, and that was something else she wouldn't be. Instead, she reached down and gripped Anora's hand in her own. She rubbed the other over her forehead gently. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Sorry for the death. Sorry for the unkindnesses so casually given. Sorry for all of the things a Cousland had been born to without understanding. Sorry that Anora had never known what it felt like to be someone else's world. "I'm sorry."

Anora didn't seem to hear her, but it didn't matter. In a minute, she was gone.

* * *

><p>Elissa crawled over to the door later. Her limbs felt heavy, a little ache-y, and she knew the poison was certainly working. She'd tried eating things, to slow the absorption, but it was probably too late. The halls were silent, no sounds of shouting or fighting, and no one had come. She had to hold on just a little longer. She focused on breathing and keeping her eyes open.<p>

Without warning, the doors flew open. Guards poured in, but different ones than before. Zevran came with them, and she almost fainted with relief as he knelt beside her. "What is it? Is it done?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But there was other poison. I had to drink it. I don't know what it was."

He swore at her. "And you sit here? Waiting to die?"

"Waiting for my hero to find me," she said, trying to smile.

He slashed a look at her as he dug in his pouch. "I will give you the strongest antidote I have. Someone get Wynne," he snapped behind him. "You are the stupidest woman I have ever met. Drink." She swallowed the potion obediently. He watched her face.

"I had to. Is everything…" She lost her train of thought.

"Yes, everything went well. Traitors swept up, Leliana's moles brought to heel, kingdom safe and sound. Plus or minus one stubborn noble. Alistair is going to be furious with you."

_I hope so,_ she tried to say, but she slipped away into unconsciousness and knew nothing else.


	15. Suggesting

News of Anora's death spread quickly. They called it another suicide, after her attempted coup had failed thanks to the King's powerful protectors and allies. Leliana had been very thorough with Elissa's information, teasing out the threads of the conspiracy efficiently once she had the place to start. The traitorous network was no more. Alistair knew that part of her thoroughness had to do with her own embarrassment at only knowing whispers of something that had been so well-organized. He didn't ask her about it, but when he met her outside of Elissa's door she touched his arm. "I was complacent. It could have cost you your life. I'm sorry."

He hugged her. "You've saved my life a hundred times and improved it in a thousand ways. You never need to apologize to me. I asked so much of you, too much. Don't shoulder blame that isn't yours like some fussy Fereldan noble." He pulled back and tipped his head towards the door beside them. "Just make sure people know she isn't a traitor."

Leliana nodded and left. He opened the door and proceeded into the room. Wynne slept on a cot nearby, recovering from her healing. Alistair took up his usual place in the chair beside Elissa's bed. She existed somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness, and her face was peaceful and innocent. It was painful to look at. She breathed shallowly but evenly, and he took her hand in his. He moved his fingers to her wrist to feel the pulse of her heart underneath them. It grew stronger each day.

Eventually someone would come and tell him royalty was needed somewhere else, but for now he sat next to her and willed her to come back.

* * *

><p>Zevran sat with him sometimes. Neither of them said much, though Alistair thanked him for finding her every time he saw him. The antidote the elf had carried had likely saved her life. It hadn't been an exact match to the poison used, but it was enough to get her body fighting until Wynne could come with healing magic to sustain her. The healer said she would wake. Still, Alistair knew Zevran felt guilty for not getting there sooner, for taking too much time sweeping the halls of the Tower for stragglers. He knew because he felt the same way for not being there at all.<p>

Once he caught the elf looking at him intently. He shifted. "What? Are you going to tell me I look terrible? Believe me, I know."

"No. Well, yes, you do, but it's not that. There is something I wish to do for the two of you. It will require me to leave Fereldan."

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "You don't need my permission to leave Fereldan. You're not even my subject, not really."

"You wound me. I have chosen my new home, yet it will not accept me," Zevran sighed dramatically. "And after I have made such efforts to become Fereldan in my mannerisms. I have not ravished anyone in days!"

He grinned, and the Alistair smiled back. He continued. "I know I don't need permission. But I need something else, maybe more difficult. I wish to seek out Morrigan. Elissa will try to stop me, so I will not tell her of my plans, but a letter from you will help. The witch may not listen to me, but she will feel a certain obligation to you after the service you performed for her."

Alistair grimaced at the reminder. "Why go looking for her? Her mother was a dragon, you know. And she was the nice one."

"She knows things about Grey Wardens and might know how they may conceive. She may give me this information if I ask in my most charming way. Consider it a wedding present."

He colored. "We're not even engaged."

"You will be," said Zevran. The elf looked at Elissa's sleeping form. "She is my closest friend. Don't let her leave again. She might not survive it."

Alistair gripped her hand a little tighter and didn't answer. Zevran walked around the bed and kissed her forehead gently, then did the same to Alistair. "Bring me the letter when you are ready. I will leave as soon as she wakes."

* * *

><p>He wasn't with her when she woke up, and in a way he was glad. He wanted her to be stronger and more herself before they had to deal with each other. With his focus on her getting better he'd had no time to consider how he would act. He paced restlessly outside of her room as Wynne examined her. Leliana stood with him quietly. Zevran had already left. He'd been surprised the Antivan hadn't wanted to see her, but he'd shaken his head. "Too many questions. I don't wish to lie to her or deal in anger. Give her my love."<p>

As if she could hear his thoughts, Leliana spoke. "Orleais is very safe these days. Zevran will be fine."

"How do you know he's going to Orleais?" he asked, to keep up appearances.

"You think he knew where to find her on his own?"

Wynne came out of the room then and nodded to them both. "She's awake and alert but will tire easily. I've given her some food, but she's being stubborn. I'm sure this is hard to imagine." She addressed Alistair. "Make sure she eats while you're in there."

* * *

><p>He went in alone, and it was just the two of them alone for the first time in a year. He remembered that their last meeting had been in this room as well and frowned. He wouldn't let himself dwell on it. She sat up, wearing a fresh gown and with her hair loose around her shoulders. The tray of food in front of her completed the illusion of a pampered lady eating breakfast in bed. Only the shadows under her eyes marred the image.<p>

She watched him walk across the room until he sat in his usual place. He nodded towards the tray in silent command, and she folded her arms like a child. When his eyes narrowed she picked up a piece of fruit with a huff and nibbled on it. Alistair smiled a little, and she answered with a small smile of her own. It broke his heart and healed it all at the same time. She must have seen it in his eyes. Her face grew solemn. It was time to see who they would be.

He reached out and gently touched her leg under the blanket. "Tell me."

Her eyes were bright but her voice steady while she told him her story. He gave her water when her voice cracked and tried to listen patiently. They'd heard rumors of a plot against him, something deadly. They'd tried chasing leads across Fereldan but no one was willing to speak to them truly. Once word had spread of the fight at Amaranthine and the King's feud with her, things had gotten easier. They'd learned about Anora's ambitions, how frighteningly large her support base was in Denerim without anyone being the wiser, and decided they needed to take action. When Alistair protested that they could have just written and told them, she shook her head.

"We didn't know exactly who was involved, but we did know that it encompassed part of Leliana's network. There was no way to guarantee a message would get through or that we wouldn't tip our hands. If they found out we were trying to help you before you even knew about it, there was no way you wouldn't fall. I couldn't risk it."

"So you risked yourself." His voice was neutral, and she looked at him curiously.

"Yes. I needed to get into the prison. It was clear that's where her support was, since that was the only place she had access to. You wisely allowed her no other visitors. Anora would never trust me, but she would pretend to if I approached her in the right way. My noble status would get me into the Tower eventually, after I'd identified the people involved. Leliana would do the work outside, I would do the work inside, and your hands would stay clean." Her eyes flashed a little. "You weren't supposed to bring me what you did. It should have been Zevran. Hopefully no one remembers that visit."

"Do my hands need to be clean?"

"The people see you as a noble knight, a Ser on a charger who's clean and pure. You couldn't pre-emptively murder a woman for what she might do, and a public execution after the fact would only make her a martyr. This was better. And in case things went wrong, I'm known to be something of a loose cannon anyway. It would have been easy for me to take any blame." He said nothing. She played with the sleeve of her gown. "Are you going to yell at me?"

He sighed. "Would it stop you from doing the exact same things all over again if you thought you had to?" She shook her head slightly and looked down. "I've had time to think since you left. Lots of it. I've thought even more since you returned. I can't change who you are, no matter how much you infuriate me at times. I don't even want to, not really. The same things that frustrate me are the same things that make you so undeniable. Even if yelling at you would make a difference, I wouldn't want you to be anyone else. I just wish you weren't so willing to throw your life away and rip my heart out alongside. Your life is precious. It shouldn't be abused."

They sat in silence for a long minute. His voice whispered out again, unbidden, full of tears he wouldn't shed. "I'll never convince you of how much you matter. You'll go on how you always have, reckless and audacious and begging the world to tear you apart as you think you deserve. Yelling accomplishes nothing. Besides, I have no leg to stand on. You know very well I will always do anything you ask of me, no matter how it hurts. The one time I didn't, I lost you for a year, and I'm not nearly brave enough to chance it again."

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and he perversely wanted to take the sting of his own words away. He lightened his tone as best he could. "I still don't know where all of those ridiculous rumors even started. They made absolutely no sense."

"Oh, that was us. We were the best gossipmongers in Fereldan." He stared at her. She looked back defensively, eyes still teary. "Well, we needed them to think that we were enemies even though we hadn't been acting like them. Scorned passions are always believed. The story seemed plausible enough, to people who didn't know. Of course, I didn't know that some of it was true. I'm sorry if I caused you any embarrassment." Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she stared at the wall.

"Embarrassment?"

"For you and your lady. It helped to sell the rest of the story, that piece of truth, but I wouldn't have included it had I known."

He shook his head in confusion. "There is no lady."

"You don't have to lie, Alistair. It's okay," she said carefully. "A guard told me she's been seen coming out of your room. I'm glad for you. I hope whoever she is, she'll make a good Queen."

"Ah, yes. That." Now it was his turn to blush. Haltingly, stumblingly, he tried to explain. His words felt hollow as he described his frustration and his fear of marriage. How he'd hoped for her to return and despaired when she hadn't. Leliana's method of relieving it all and his weakness in accepting it. When he got to the last, he ran out of words and stared at his hands, completely ashamed. He only looked up when she tried to lean forward to grab his hand. He reached out to her instead. "Wynne will kill me if let you exert yourself," he said.

She didn't acknowledge that, only gripped his fingers. "It's okay. There's nothing wrong with sex. There's nothing wrong with any of it. It's hard to be alone. Don't be ashamed of needing someone."

"You wouldn't have done it." Not that he hadn't asked Zevran some jealous questions about their trip over the last few days.

Elissa smiled a little. "Even if our positions were reversed, there's no one in Thedas who'd be able to stand in for you. Trust me. I've been everywhere."

He gave her a sharp look. "She could never stand in for you. It's why I left." That triggered his memory. He released her and pulled the chain he wore up over his head. He held it out. "You should have this."

She grew pale and made no move to take it. "I don't want it. I killed him."

"I killed him. You saved him," he said. He set it down on the bed and tried again. "When you leave, you should take it with you. Pieces of people you love shouldn't be left behind."

She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Alistair, I didn't love Thomas. Not like that. He was a good person. He would have been a true friend, if things were different. But never my lover." She smiled a little mischievously. "I think he was more in love with you than me."

"Well, who wouldn't be? I am, after all, much prettier," he said to cover his confusion. She let out a quick laugh, then sobered.

"The last thing he told me was that I shouldn't leave you. He was wrong then, but he was right in a deeper way. I needed to find my new purpose. The only things I've ever wanted in my life were adoration and baubles, then death and sacrifice. I haven't lived a very complex existence. The former was right for Denerim, but that girl had no worth. The latter was wrong for what you wanted, but it was in my heart. The only thing I could think to accomplish with the self I had was to protect Fereldan with my blade.

"I ran away to do it. I learned how to be a person again, and it was a good purpose to have. But once I was whole, it was clear I was in the wrong place to do it. I want to protect Fereldan. But that means protecting you." She paused. "I'm not going to leave, unless you tell me to go. I'll even learn to like parties again, if I have to."

His heart tightened, but he kept himself in check. "I'd like you to stay. But I don't know why you should learn to like parties. Maker knows I still haven't." Her dark eyes danced merrily, beautiful and alive. He sighed. To hell with keeping himself in check. He leaned forward. "Marry me. I need a wife. I need a protector. I want you." He watched her face closely, trying to judge her reaction.

"As my King commands," she said lightly and smiled. No pain, no hesitation, no anger. He returned her smile. He couldn't see love, not yet, but there was something flowing between them. He would be patient. He remembered their kisses, the heated look in her eyes in the Tower, and his stomach turned over. He stood and leaned over her, kissing her softly. When he straightened, she breathed out a little wistfully and bit her lip. She was more tempting than any Desire demon could be.

He shook his head to clear it. "Wynne wants you to eat and rest and recover." She crossed her arms. "Consider it your punishment for being an idiot," he said. Never mind that it punished him, too. He'd accept it.

He'd accept it later. He leaned down and captured her again. He bit her lip in the same place she had, hard enough to make her gasp, but not enough to hurt. She tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down to her. He braced himself on the bed, not wanting his weight to bruise her recovering body, and growled a little at the lack of control it gave him. She smiled against his mouth and changed tactics, feathering kisses down his jawline to his neck. He closed his eyes and submitted to her torture, groaning appreciatively as she bit and licked her way down to his chest. He breathed heavily when she undid his shirt. She ran her hands across the planes of his stomach while he leaned over her, gritting his teeth.

Only when she tried to shift her position to move herself further down his body did he push away. His need for her was getting out of control, and she was still weaker than she'd admit. He cursed himself for his poor tactics. He'd been trying to punish her and all he'd done was deny himself instead. She sat back again, pouting slightly, as he re-buttoned his shirt. "Rest. Wynne should scare even you." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Besides, the last thing I want is to get barred from your room."

* * *

><p>When he stepped into the hall, two women sat on a nearby bench grinning at him. He fought to keep his face stern. Leliana stood first. "So shall we say six months to plan the ceremony? The announcement will go out immediately, of course."<p>

He glared at her. "You really do think you know everything, don't you?" He replayed her words and yelped. "Wait, did you say this is going to take six months?"

"At least. If we rush it. I assume you will wish to rush it?"

He glared harder. The bard smiled. Wynne rose beside her. "Congratulations to you both. But she'd better still get plenty of rest or you won't set another foot in there until your wedding."


	16. Simmering

_A/N: I just wanted to point out that as of this chapter an M rating is in effect. Not that I think anyone will care, but fair warning!_

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, Elissa laid in bed and realized she should have just begged Alistair to yell at her. Yelling meant a good fight, a way to release the history between them. She could have handled that punishment easily. His methods of payback were both more subtle and much more aggravating. Even worse, he'd enlisted allies.<p>

She rolled over and looked at him. He sat against the headboard on the other side of her bed, reading whatever diplomatic missive he was pretending to care about that night. She studied him. His ran his finger along his jaw as he scanned the pages. He was out of what he called his kinging uniform and wore a version of the casual clothes they'd used at camp during the Blight. The shirt especially was tight and left little of his physique to her extremely overactive imagination. During an eternity of bed rest, allowed only a few walks around the corridors to rebuild her strength each day, she'd had little to occupy her mind. Most of what did occupy it was next to her. She narrowed her eyes. "I know what you're doing."

"Yes, I'm reading. Very clever of you to notice. However, while I'm to the point where my lips don't move as I go, I'm still unable to carry on a conversation at the same time." He didn't look over but his mouth held a ghost of a grin.

Impossible. He came to her room whenever he was free and settled himself next to her. He touched her occasionally, even kissed her, but not nearly as much as she wanted. He always backed away before things got interesting, reminded her she was a patient, and picked up some boring piece of business while she ached beside him. The bastard. Her willpower was never sufficient to turn him away, and he resisted any attempt she made to lure him. She didn't know where he'd picked up this sudden iron self-control, but she suspected it had a lot to do with his pleased looks whenever she snarled at him. The only weapon she really had would be to crawl all over him until he couldn't resist, and she wouldn't use it. On a certain level, she knew she deserved these small cruelties. And she did get tired easily.

That didn't mean she had to like it. That didn't mean she couldn't try to break him. "No, you're trying to torture me by paying more attention to whatever some Nevarran royal has to say about cheese prices than me. It's not going to work. I'm perfectly happy to ignore you, too."

He smiled even more widely. "I'm glad to hear it. Understanding cheese prices is rather tricky. It may take me all night to work it out."

That was the worst of it. He refused to engage in a fight with her no matter how combative she got. It was like a shield of calmness, as impenetrable as his guard when sparring. And no one else that came in would fight with her either, on his orders. The tension in her was unbearable from every angle. She stared at him and fumed.

Okay, a change of tactics. She gave him her best flirtatious gaze. "You know, a side effect of the poison seems to be that I get cold very easily these days." She scooted a little closer to him and tried to shift her low neckline lower.

He still didn't look. "Do you need a blanket?" He raised his voice. "Wynne! The Lady is a little chilly. A blanket, please?"

The healer glided in from the sitting room. She took in Elissa's stony face and stopped. Elissa rolled onto her back again. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"You still have remnants of poison working their way through you," he said mildly. "It takes a very long time to clear itself out. Any extra exertion could bring a relapse. Isn't that right, Wynne?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the mage. She walked back out, shaking her head and smiling.

"It's been weeks," she protested. "There is no such thing as a poison that lasts that long in the body. I'm perfectly fine. Zevran would back me up if he wasn't on this mysterious trip he didn't tell anyone about."

"Maybe, but he's not here, is he? I am." Alistair finally looked at her and grinned. "As your future husband, I'm taking personal responsibility for your welfare."

"I hate you," she said grumpily. "I don't think I can marry someone I hate."

He set his paper aside, and she felt the bed shift as he moved towards her. She hid a smile and awaited the game. He stopped a few inches away, propped on his elbow, and looked down at her. The wicked look in his eyes made her shiver. "So you hate me?" he asked softly. "Funny, I haven't been getting that impression at all." Her breathing sped up as he traced a finger lightly over the scars on her chest. "In fact, I think you like having me around quite a bit."

"You can be tolerable," she murmured. "Sometimes."

His finger traveled up her neck to skim over her lips. He outlined them gently before leaning down to graze them with his own. She knew from past experience that if she pressed for more he'd just pull back with a smile, so she settled for wiggling a little closer to him and waiting. He trailed his mouth to her ear and nibbled at her earlobe. "Only sometimes?"

"When you're not being insufferable." She felt him laugh, and she pressed herself against him more fully. He breathed in sharply. "I think I could stand a little exertion."

At that he lifted his head to look at her. "I agree." He drifted his hand down until it rested at the top of the sheet covering her legs. She stopped breathing. "That's why I think you should come to the training yard with me tomorrow. Time to get a sword back in your hand, Hero."

She stared at him in shock. His face was sincere under its playfulness, and she couldn't contain her joy. She punched him lightly in the chest. "It's about time!" Her broad grin took any sting out of her words, though he still feigned pain at the strike.

He sobered a little. Soft eyes roamed over her face. "Maker, you're beautiful when you're happy."

A thrill ran through her. "Then you should keep me happy, shouldn't you?"

He kissed her in earnest, then, and she responded with all the strength she had to give. They explored each other for a long time, and she settled in for another night of partially fulfilled longing. But he seemed more responsive than usual to the urgency of her mouth, and she felt his own need pressing against her. Eventually his hand slid under the sheet and pushed her short dressing gown up over her hips. She gasped in surprise and a little nervousness. He'd never pushed this far, and if he teased her now she'd never forgive him. "Wynne's in the other room," she whispered.

"Then you'll have to be quiet." He played his fingers across the thin fabric that covered her, and she arched her hips into them instinctively. She bit her lip while he kissed her neck. Her hands gripped his shoulders and silently begged him for more. He swiftly pulled her underclothes down until she was bare, though she was still hidden under the bed sheet from anyone who might walk in. What kind of man thought about preserving the modesty of a woman while he made her senseless with desire? She'd never understand him. But as he slipped his fingers inside her, she didn't care. And when his thumb rubbed her slowly while he curled his fingers perfectly, she knew she cared all too much.

She was a little embarrassed at how quickly she climaxed, though he'd been priming her endlessly for it. Her long frustration made his task easy, even with only his hand. When she reached the edge, shuddering, he covered her mouth with his own to muffle her cries. As she tried to keep herself from complete abandon, he pressed his thumb against her firmly, and she lost all control and could only hold on as pleasure crashed through her. She sensed his smug delight in her reaction. She resolved to punch him more seriously soon.

His kisses were deep and thorough as she slowly came back to herself. While she caught her breath, he took the time to pull her clothing back into place. He rolled away, and she shot him a questioning look. "What about you? This doesn't seem fair." He smiled when she yawned against her will.

"You're exhausted. The fact that it's because of me is all the satisfaction I need." She tried to glare at him but knew she managed little more than slight pique. "You can make it up to me another time. In fact, I know you will."

She felt her eyes closing. "You could stay here, you know." He always went back to his rooms to sleep, no matter how long he spent with her.

"That would be a scandal! The nation will fall without strict propriety from its ruler. Rest up, Lady. The swordplay tomorrow is the only sword you should be thinking about."

"Ugh. Zevran's rubbed off on you."

"Yes, he's taught me quite a bit. Aren't you glad?"

* * *

><p>He took it easy on her in the training yard the next morning, and she was grateful. It was good to feel metal in her hands again after so long, even if her weakened abilities frustrated her. Her mind remembered what to do, but her body was slow and clumsy. By the end of the session her speed hadn't materialized, but some of her old grace had returned. The men and women of the palace guard cheered for her when she gave a final flourish and bow at the end of the workout without falling over. When she and Alistair walked back side by side, her throat tightened. It was like it always had been. He took her hand in his. And it was better.<p>

He had a meeting with some trading group or other and left her at her door. She pushed inside and stopped short. Leliana was in the sitting room, alone. It was the first time the bard had come to see her since she'd awoken. They'd communicated plenty, especially about the mind-numbing details of a royal wedding, but always through third parties. Alistair assumed they spoke often, and she hadn't wanted to correct him, especially since she wasn't exactly sure what might be wrong. Now Leliana was here, waiting, and Elissa hoped she didn't want to fight her. After the morning, she could barely stand up.

She tried to focus. "More wedding decisions?" she asked lightly. Leliana shook her head. Elissa walked into her bedroom to change into clean clothes. "Don't tell me there's another plot afoot because I simply could not handle one right now." She changed quickly and came back to sit across from Leliana.

"No, Lady. No more plots that we've found, and the wedding plans are moving smoothly for now. Also, now that you've recovered sufficiently for training, we'll also be planning an engagement ball in your honor at the palace in the next month or two. Expect dressmakers to arrive with gown ideas soon."

She wanted to groan, but Leliana's face warned her not to. "I look forward to it. It's good to know we have the resources to plan so many parties at once. But you really don't have to call me Lady. I'm always Elissa to my friends." Asking the question without asking. Noble doublespeak never really left.

"Thank you, Lady, I appreciate that." Well, that shut her up. Leliana was clearly not ready to forgive her.

Not that she would let that stop her from trying. "I never got to thank you for what you did. We couldn't have done anything without knowing you were there. You were the crucial piece."

A smile as sharp as a dagger showed amusement. "Spymasters are usually crucial, but rarely important." Leliana paused. "That does bring me to the reason I came. I'd like to begin teaching you to perform most of my duties. I have some people in my organization who can take the more subtle responsibilities, so you can act as more as a group than I did, but you should be the head."

Elissa sat back, totally shocked. "Maker's name, why? You're much better at this than I ever could be."

"You're a better spy than you know. You have the bravery to take chances, the intelligence and connections to learn, and no one would ever suspect the Queen of the nation to be the spymaster. It's an ingenious cover." Leliana's voice hardened. "And you have the complete lack of consideration for others' feelings that is essential for success. While spies rarely stab people in peacetime, the choices have enough warlike qualities that you'll feel quite at home."

There was no good response. "Leliana, I'm sorry if I did something to hurt you. More than I knew, anyway."

"I accept your apology, but you never hurt me." She stressed the last syllable in a way that made Elissa flush. "I'll of course stay until the wedding is over, which should be ample time for the transition."

"Wait, you're leaving completely?" Elissa's mouth fell open. "Have you told Alistair? Where are you going?"

"I've been asked to assist an old friend in the Chantry. I think it will be a good choice for me. A spy who's failed her master can never be as effective in the same place. I'll second-guess myself endlessly, see threats where there are none and miss the ones that are there. You won't have that problem."

"You didn't fail! You ran this country for a year."

"I did. Now I can't." The bard crossed her legs. "As for Alistair, I haven't told him. I would like him not to know until I'm closer to leaving, though of course I can't control your choices."

Suspicion wormed its way through her. It wasn't wise to push her, but she had to know. "Are you in love with him?"

"Would it matter if I were?"

She started to answer automatically, then stopped. She resumed more slowly. "It would matter, to me, because you're my friend. But it wouldn't change what I'll do."

"A wise and true reply. Perhaps you did learn something in your time away. Understanding and consideration. Subtlety. They will serve you well," said Leliana. "Assuming you accept my proposal."

It was no answer, but it was also every answer. "Of course I do. And I won't tell Alistair. About anything."

The Orlesian smiled a little more genuinely. "Thank you." She rose and walked to the door, then turned around. "You almost broke him, you know. It wasn't easy to keep him whole. A spymaster protects her lord against everything, and you are the sharpest weapon of all against him. You'll have to protect him from yourself. A difficult challenge, given your temperament. But one I believe you're equal to." She left.


	17. Searching

The next weeks settled into a pleasant routine. Elissa strengthened in body and mind, training hard with her weapons in the morning and studying with Leliana in the afternoons. She enjoyed both, more than she expected at times, but evenings were Alistair's, and they were the best parts of her day. Whether they hosted dignitaries to dinner, debated decisions and policies, or spent time in more pleasurable ways, she always enjoyed herself. Best of all, it relaxed a tension in her she hadn't known she was still carrying. That she loved Alistair she had no doubt. That her purpose was to protect him was even more certain. But despite what Anora thought, she hadn't wanted to be a Queen. She didn't want to disappear under a crown. Mostly, she didn't want Alistair to treat her as a noble.

She shouldn't have worried. Once he decided she'd been suitably chastised, he treated her much as he always had. He was more tender, but no more delicate. And while he seemed to appreciate the new, frillier additions to her wardrobe, he liked her just as much in her armor. The way he looked at her when they sparred in the practice yards helped her savor the way she felt in her airy gowns. Rather than bring back a past she regretted, they hinted at a future she was beginning to treasure. And she had to admit it was easier to take them off than plate when they got back to her rooms.

Though he'd given up on torment, at least extended torment, Alistair retained three rules that he wouldn't break with her. They only spent time alone in her rooms, he never slept the night, and they'd yet to be together completely, in the way she craved. The last was the most difficult for her. They could and did satisfy each other in other ways, and she certainly had no complaints. He was by far the most attractive man she'd ever been with, even beyond looks, and whatever he'd talked about with Zevran had clearly been instructive. But she worried that he was plagued by memories or guilt over his past experiences without her. She didn't want him to carry a needless burden.

When she'd asked him about it gently, he'd blushed and said he wanted them to be married first. She hadn't been able to hide a smile at his gravity. Who would have thought there'd be a royal who actually believed in the princes of legends? When she'd knelt to him and recited the familiar lines of a princess from an old children's story, he'd blushed even harder. When he'd tried to stand, a little distraught, she'd pushed him lightly back into the chair and shown him as best she could how much she was willing to make the wait bearable. Her methods were decidedly un-princesslike, but he'd seemed reassured. And very happy.

In his slow way he courted her, as she'd never been courted before, and she melted in the glow of his chivalry. She melted all the more for the fact that he fought her to standstills in the ring, never again holding back against her.

* * *

><p>The people of the kingdom were a little uncertain of the stories, changing as they had so often, but her travels through the land had earned her a goodwill that swayed them. Teagan took up her cause among the nobles, using his influence and reputation for honesty to spin a new tale. Leliana also understood the nature of stories, and turned the sown gossip of a rift between Hero and King to a tale of star-crossed love with Anora as the evil witch. It was close enough to the truth to make Elissa laugh, even if she'd really played most of the parts herself. Besides, as Leliana said, a royal marriage was always a joyous occasion in a kingdom. It would sweep away any lingering doubts.<p>

Elissa was learning a lot from the Orlesian, though surely not everything she herself knew. Even Elissa understood that it was bad policy to give away all your secrets.

On the afternoon of the ball that was being held in her honor - an honor she would have happily declined, no matter how beautiful the dress - she found the report. She sat in the windowless office that served as a hub of the messages that poured in from agents across Thedas, reading and sorting them into piles to help her retain their knowledge. She wasn't the only one working at it, but the highest priority messages, or those with marks that indicated their closeness to the center of the network, all went to her. Leliana would come in later to check her work and discuss what was known with them all, and she wanted to get everything exactly right. The bard's corrections were becoming fewer and fewer, and she'd even bestowed a rare smile of congratulations on her last week.

When she picked up the paper and saw familiar handwriting, her blood ran cold. She translated the message automatically, anger kindling inside her until her body was an inferno. She wheeled on another sorter, hardly seeing his face. "Go get Leliana and His Majesty. Now. I don't care what they're doing. And then all of you get out."

A noise of protest came behind her, faint and quickly cut off. Her voice cut through the room like her sharpest sword. "Now!" They practically crushed themselves against the door.

* * *

><p>Leliana came first. She projected her usual serenity and sat quietly while Elissa paced and searched for her own calm. It had abandoned her utterly. When Alistair came in, joking about how he hadn't thought he'd have to take orders from her until after the ceremony, she gave him her coldest look. His levity vanished as he stepped towards her. "Elissa, what's wrong? Is everything okay? Are you okay?" He tried to touch her shoulder, and she shook him off. He seemed to notice her sparring face, then, and he settled back on his heels in his own stance. "What's happened?"<p>

"Do either of you know where Zevran is?" She asked them both, but knew Leliana would give away nothing. Alistair was much less skilled at hiding things.

"I don't," he said. "He told me he was off to take care of some things, didn't want to hang around the capital. He was worried you'd be mad at him." Alistair studied her. "Are you? Mad at him, I mean?"

She didn't answer. "Funny that you say that, given the report I just read from him. He says the search he's doing for you is progressing well. And that he's in Antiva." She snarled the last word.

"What? No, he's in Orlais." She smiled as he realized what he'd said. Not skilled at all, at least not with her. "That's what I was told, anyway," he added lamely.

At that she looked back at Leliana, whose eyes held a trace of embarrassment. "He was in Orlais. He must have needed to move his search."

"To Antiva? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? The Crows are still searching for him. They'll kill him without question if they find him. We barely went there when there were two of us, and we still had to fight off quite a few of them. Alone, with no backup? What chance do you think he has?" Neither of them said anything, and the panic inside of her grew. "What could he possibly be doing for you that he would even think of taking that risk?"

Alistair sighed and sat down. "He's looking for Morrigan."

Her feelings turned to disbelief. "Maker's breath, why?" Suspicion blossomed. "Are you looking for her child, in case we can't have one of our own?"

"No! I would never… you know that I wouldn't want that. Wouldn't even think of it," said Alistair. "But I suppose it's close. Morrigan seems to know a lot about how Grey Wardens might have children. He's trying to get information from her."

"You asked him to look for her so that I can have a baby," she said flatly. He hesitated, then nodded. "That is the dumbest thing to risk his life for that I can possibly think of."

Leliana leaned forward. "Alistair didn't ask him. I did. It was necessary. He needs an heir."

"Don't take his side," she snapped. "He let him go. He still didn't tell me."

"I'm not taking sides. I'm saying what is true. It must be known if it's possible."

"What if she says it isn't? What if it only works with one Grey Warden? What if it won't work if the Warden is a woman? What if he can't find her at all or doesn't come back in time?" She fought off tears. "Will you take a different wife? A mistress who can give you a child? Do you send me away?" It was smart of him to do this, to make sure. The advisor and the spy inside of her agreed with them both, against her will. But she'd been so sure he loved her. He shouldn't have wanted certainty. Or an insurance policy. Especially not enough to risk her best friend.

Alistair looked horrified. He jumped up and crossed the room with startling speed, then wrapped himself around her tightly. "Never. Never."

She stayed in the circle of his arms for a few heartbeats, wanting to believe, but she couldn't. Fear pulled at her mind, making it hard to think. She pushed him away. "Then why take a chance with your friend's life for something that wouldn't change your mind?"

Anger flashed across his face. "I'm worried for him, too. Don't think I'm not. He was supposed to go to Orlais. He wasn't supposed to risk anything."

"I'm going after him," she said. "I'm going to Antiva."

Leliana stood as well. "You will do no such thing. Even if the future queen of this country could leave on dangerous personal business, even if she could enter a foreign nation with the willingness to kill its citizens, you still will not. Zevran is already there. His safety depends on the fact that no one else knows that. If you go, questions will be raised, and he may be discovered." Elissa gritted her teeth and knew she was right. "You will stay here. Our agents will attempt quiet support. Act like the leader you are."

Fury cleared her mind of panic, made things bright and clear. She smoothed out her voice. "Okay. I will. I have a ball to get ready for. Please excuse me." She turned back to them when she reached the door. "If Zevran -" She broke off. She couldn't even think it. His motionless body lying in a grave she'd never find. "If he's hurt because of this, I will never forgive you."

* * *

><p>Leliana caught up with her outside her room. "You need to let this anger go, Elissa. It will destroy him. Don't punish him for something I did."<p>

She felt herself crossing the line, but she was too furious to stop. She whirled on the bard. "Did you do this on purpose? Did you ask me to take this job, assign me these reports, so that I would learn what I did? Hoping it would make me go and leave the field clear for you?"

Deep hurt settled in the bard's face. "No. I didn't. And the reason you know that is because I'm here, now, trying to get you to see sense. Zevran's an adult. He made a choice. One you don't like. Live with it." A hint of disgust crept in. "You can't always get your way."

Elissa clenched her hands and looked away. "I don't always want my way. I just want my friends to be safe. Is that some terrible sin?"

"We are not helpless animals. Zevran is talented and dangerous. He is capable of more than you give him credit for." The bard closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "We appreciate your love. It's fierce and unwavering and does you credit in some ways. But you hold us so tight that it hurts us, Lady. You clutch us to you until we can't breathe. You push us out of the way of harm and leave us broken on the ground while we watch you take the blows. It does us no favors. You can't keep us all safe."

Tears pricked at her eyes. "It hurts me more to watch you suffer than to suffer myself. I can't take it. It's why I wanted to be the one who was sacrificed. I wasn't supposed to have to deal with any of this."

"I know. Your selflessness is the part that does you credit. But you have to try."

She looked at her hands, scarred and calloused. "Why are you telling me this? Why be kind? I was just horrible to you."

Leliana smiled faintly. "You were. But I know you thought of those questions immediately, as soon as you saw the report. I saw them on your face. You could have asked me them in front of Alistair, forced a confrontation to reveal what was hidden and benefit yourself. You waited until we were alone. Even in anger, you show kindness to those you love. It's worthy of repayment." The smile vanished. "But you need to stop being a child."

* * *

><p>Alistair wondered if he should ask someone to bring in an acting coach for him. Sitting at the ball's head table, he knew he wasn't holding up his end of the performance. Elissa and Leliana were doing marvelously. The two women were natural and happy next to him, greeting strangers and friends as if they were the only invitees they'd wanted to attend. He was managing handshake and a few pained smiles.<p>

It hadn't helped that his bride-to-be was the reason the ball was being held. Instead of entering the room with him as usual, she'd been announced separately. This meant he hadn't been able to talk to her or even see her between their argument and now. And she was so good at noble games that he had exactly zero read on her emotional state. His own was sour, but he tried to hide it as best he could.

She'd entered the room beautifully, with a radiant smile, in a dress perfectly made to flatter every part of her. His mouth had run dry, and he'd wished desperately he could read her mind. She'd crossed the room to him gracefully and kissed him while the guests cheered and clapped. Her face showed nothing but adoration. Only the slight pressure on his hands where she gripped them gave him any hint of her tension, but it was enough to keep him off-balance.

Dinner was awkward, with none of the easy conversation they'd had since their engagement. She and the Arlessa of Denerim mostly carried the table between them, leaving him only to agree to whatever opinion was presented to him. After dinner ended and the music began, she elbowed him subtly until he rose as gracefully as he could manage and led her to a dance. He still only knew the most basic ones. He'd been hoping to learn the rest with her, very privately. Now he rejoiced that he hadn't, as the simple dances were the shortest. He held her gingerly and tried not to get distracted by the wisps of hair curling on her neck. She made it more difficult by smiling intimately at him throughout, earning pleased whispers from everyone who watched.

When they finished, more couples drifted to the floor, and he separated from her the rest of the evening, talking to whomever was farthest away at all times. Every once in a while he watched her across the room. She was certainly good at whatever you called this. Nobling. Queening. Pretending.

At a subtle signal from her, he excused himself. They made a pretty speech about the kingdom and their joy, one they'd memorized days ago, and then excused themselves from the party. As soon as they made it to the private wing, her social mask dropped. She looked tired. He felt exhausted. He was surprised when they arrived to her room and she motioned them in. From her body language, it definitely wasn't for sex.

He leaned against a chair and didn't look at her. "I'm sorry if my performance wasn't up to par. I'm not sure how to act."

"You were fine. Shy and fumbling. It fits your image," she said absently.

Oh. Good. That's exactly what he wanted to project. "If we're going to fight again, could we do it tomorrow? I'm tired. You can accuse me of whatever nasty, heartless qualities you want in the morning," he said. He regretted the words instantly, though his inner mind roared approval.

He heard her breathe out slowly. "No, I don't want to fight. I want to say I'm sorry for what happened earlier." He turned to look at her and regretted it. She stood in a beam of moonlight that lit her hair with silver light. Her dress floated around her and faded into the wall, so she appeared to be rising out of the castle itself. Andraste herself could be no more beautiful. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

She didn't notice his sudden attentions. "I want to say it, but I can't. Every time I try, I just see Zevran dead. The worry hurts too much for anything else."

"Do you want to move back the wedding until we find him? Call it off entirely?" he asked. He was proud of the way his voice showed none of the agony he felt. None of the anger.

Her eyes flicked to his face. "No. No, I don't want that."

"Fine. Then we'll wait. Keep up appearances. Be civil. And when Zevran returns, maybe things will change." _If he ever does_, he thought. She didn't answer. Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, but he didn't have it in him to comfort her. He gave her a formal bow and stepped out. On the way back to his rooms he thought about how easy it was to lose something you'd never let go.

* * *

><p>Two months later, they were still civil. They hardly ever argued, and the people who met them exclaimed about how well-suited they were to one another. Most said they envied their connection, that they wished their own marriages were as harmonious. He became adept at smiling through a clenched jaw. He agreed that he was lucky. He granted that Elissa was the most agreeable wife-in-waiting anyone could ask for. It was true.<p>

They never spent time alone together anymore, but she was as polite as anything.

Finally at one Council meeting she kept him after. Just him. He looked at her curiously, and she wasted no time. "I got a message from Zevran this morning. He claimed success in his search, but no details. He said he was being pursued. He plans to cross by sea and enter Ferelden in the north."

"We can send troops to look for his arrival, but can we cover it all? The north of Ferelden is a big place."

"Troops might attract too much attention if the Crows have agents at the ports. But there's only one arrival point he'd expect me to guess without a hint." He breathed in sharply. She saw he understood and nodded. "Highever. It's time to go see my brother."


	18. Slaughtering

Once again they rode to Highever to meet Fergus Cousland, but this time ghosts traveled alongside. Zevran and Thomas hung heavily between them all, and there was little conversation. Wynne and Leliana had given up trying to mediate between the engaged pair long ago, and if the silence was oppressive at least it was peaceful.

Alistair spent his time watching the roads, trying to judge the mood of the nation. It seemed happy and optimistic, far less afraid than even the last time he'd traveled to visit the Grey Wardens. He was just a little proud of that. The only irritant was the wedding fever that pervaded every village they passed through, but he could hardly begrudge their excitement. After all, he'd shared it enthusiastically until a few weeks ago. Fortunately they traveled without a full royal guard, at Elissa's insistence and over Teagan's strenuous protests, so they went almost unrecognized. Until Highever.

Fergus greeted them with what seemed like the entirety of his holding. The atmosphere was brutally festive. Little children waved flags with the Ferelden crest, a band played, and people passed around giant pieces of meat and glasses of what smelled like mead that had fermented inside of a sloth demon. Alistair blinked a little at the display. After growing up in Redcliffe's austere order and learning Denerim's fussy rectitude, the convivial attitude was overwhelming. He wondered if this was Fergus's way of distracting the crowds from the tension between them. He wondered if the royalty demon was infesting his head again to make him so cynical.

A sideways glance at Elissa showed she was entirely comfortable, so this must be some kind of Highever tradition for important visitors. He made a note to avoid visiting Highever too often. He then settled down to get very, very drunk.

* * *

><p>It was never clear who began the singing, and no one admitted to being the one to introduce the more ribald tunes after the children's ears had been mostly covered. But everyone agreed that it was the King who started standing on a table and adding an extra verse to the end of each one, usually involving some scandalous act between two demure nobles. The citizenry embraced this new tradition with fervor, and even when Alistair was being gently tugged to his room by a surprisingly sympathetic Wynne, their voices raised in glorious harmony into the night.<p>

He heard Elissa's voice threading through the rest, giggling and lewd, and he smiled a little. She was proud, judgmental, and quick to anger, and there were days he wanted to shake her until she dropped every wall she put between them. But as he fell into a drunken, hazy sleep, he only thought about how much he liked to make her laugh.

* * *

><p>Elissa woke the next morning with a headache and a smile. Guilt settled into her heart for enjoying herself, but it was only a small ache. While she wished more than anything that Zevran had been there, she knew that he would have been the first to start drinking and the last to stop. And he would have encouraged her to join in at every turn.<p>

She remembered Alistair, open and unguarded, sloshing ale over the sides of his mug, cementing his status as the people's King. She'd thought he manipulated, saw angles, and built loyalty through careful calculation. His drunken congeniality had shown how wrong she was. He received loyalty through the simplest means of all - never searching for it. He was so rarely unguarded with her, even in moments of passion or joy, that she'd underestimated his good nature. She realized she'd never seen him as happy as he could truly be, and then a guilt took a hold she couldn't shake. She made him hide away parts of himself in fear. What's more, she couldn't stop herself from making him. No wonder Leliana was always so disappointed in her.

Fergus had placed her in the visitor's wing, whether through tact or as a message she didn't know, and she was too exhausted to figure it out. She padded her way through familiar halls to the dining room without thinking. When she entered, she stopped short and held her breath. The room was just as she remembered. Fergus sat in her father's place at the main table, holding his glass at an angle that was so reminiscent of him that she was half-convinced Oren would come running in behind her, begging for the middle part of the biscuits in his high, excited voice.

But of course he didn't. Fergus remained Fergus, and they remained dead. She collected herself and moved to sit at a table out of his eye line. He surprised her by waving her over to the empty place at his side. Her mother's place. She bit her lip and complied. As she sat, the other occupants of the table quietly stood and moved away. The little girl rising inside of her wanted to beg them to stay, but the woman she'd become sat straight and unbroken. Only when Fergus looked at her with his older brother's face did she feel the two parts of her combine into an uncertain whole. "Good morning," she said.

He nodded back. He watched her take her food from the center dishes. On impulse, she took two pieces of ham, as she'd always done, and she saw him smile a little. When she brought her plate back, he snaked his fork onto her plate and stole one of them for his own, just as he'd always done. She narrowed her eyes at him, but they were filling with tears that threatened to spill over. He reached over and touched her hand. "I forgot what this might be like for you. I've been here so long now. It's all faded into the distance." He looked at a knot on the table. "I lose them all a little more every day."

She stared at her food. "They're all still here. I feel them. But maybe they're gentler now. Quieter. They wouldn't want you to grow bitter."

They were silent for a time as she ate, and he toyed with the stolen meat on his plate. Eventually he broke the quiet. "I hope I've not grown bitter. I hope I've left that behind me. But I don't apologize to you for what I did."

"I don't apologize to you either, if it helps," she said.

He laughed a little. "It does. If my little sister ever apologized to me, Thedas might collapse in on itself. She's stubborn as a dragon, if you hadn't heard. Still, she's mine, for all that."

She tried to find a smile, but it eluded her. She pushed her plate away and looked at him. "I don't agree with what you did. But I didn't try to understand you. I wanted to make you okay by telling you that you should be. That you should be because I was. It wasn't kind." There. As much of an apology as she could give.

"I wasn't okay. I'm still not. I'm getting better," he said. His eyes shone with tears. "I got to know Howe secondhand by living here with my people. He wasn't what I wanted him to be. I'm a little glad that you kept me from myself. And I'm very glad that you're here." She scowled when he mussed her hair.

"You know I'm going to outrank you soon, don't you?"

"Even Queens have to submit to their brothers," he said haughtily.

"How about their husbands?" said Alistair as he sat across from her. "That would be a nice change. I feel like the south end of a north-facing druffalo. What on this table will fix that?" He gave it a bleary stare, as if hoping the food would run itself to his plate.

She stiffened, back to formality, but Fergus gave her a wicked smile. "I'm not sure we have anything for that, but the dish at the end is known to be extremely useful for a recovering singing voice. I'm sure Highever's citizens would never forgive me if I didn't force it on you. I've been inundated with requests for royal encores all morning." Alistair glared at him balefully, and she couldn't fight off a tiny grin. It was a small bridge, but it was enough.

* * *

><p>Highever had three working port villages and any number of rocky coves to land a ship in. They had a lot of ground to cover. Assuming Zevran was even coming here. She held onto the hope that she'd understood him as tightly as she could. Fergus took her out riding every day, ostensibly to reacquaint her with the land and introduce it to his guests. Wynne, Leliana and Alistair all rode with them, along with whatever guards were free at the time. The more eyes to search, the more ears to hear, the better off they would be. Best of all, her mabari ran with them, as ecstatic to see her again as she'd been to see him.<p>

"Funny thing," Fergus had said when he took her to the kennels. "This boy showed up right around the time the Hero of Ferelden started wandering the countryside as a bandit slayer. Almost as if he'd been sent home." She'd blushed a little as she petted and crooned over the dog. She'd known he couldn't travel with them where they were going, and she hadn't trusted Denerim's handlers to care for him. Even if Fergus was furious with her, he never would have mistreated one of the Cousland hounds. And the mabari had been better off somewhere familiar. "He's been a little forlorn, I think," he'd added.

Now he trotted alongside her, sniffing for Zevran. He was almost totally focused on his purpose, more even than the humans, except for the times he took to worry Alistair's horse. She listened to the King try to reason with her dog and saw Leliana and Wynne give the same nostalgic grin she felt on her own face. Some things never would change.

The days stretched on. Ships from Antiva were all casually scrutinized, but none held the assassin they were looking for. Worry ate at her. Maybe they'd missed him. Maybe she'd guessed wrong. Maybe he hadn't made it out of Antiva. Maybe he'd changed his plans. Maybe maybe maybe. The rhythm of her doubts pounded into her head as they cantered through Highever's lands. The rest of the group grew tenser as well, even Fergus. She knew they all feared the worst. She knew they all feared her.

* * *

><p>On their last sweep, at the most northwestern part of the holding, it happened. The mabari raced to the tree line, barking madly. She swung herself off her horse and checked her sword and shield as she ran after him. She felt the rest of the group doing the same behind her, and her heart raced in anticipation. She was only halfway to the forest when a figure emerged, moving quickly. Zevran. Her joy turned sour quickly as she saw him throw a dagger behind him with barely a glance. He was being chased. She drew her weapon and prepared to fight.<p>

He was making straight for them and even as he ran he had the presence of mind to signal to her. Twelve enemies. All Crows. Three archers and a giant brawler. Poisoned weapons. That was all he had time for before he fell to the ground, an arrow lodged in his back. She froze mentally even as her body kept moving her forward, past him, putting her shield between him and any archers. She screamed for Wynne, and she felt the mage draw up behind her.

Healing magic whispered through the air, and she prayed the strike hadn't been as bad as it looked. She half-turned, keeping her eyes on the forest, and let Wynne know about the poison, then shouted to the rest what she knew as they formed up. Alistair stood next to her, where they both covered Leliana's ranged skill. The four guards with stood slightly to her left in their own bunched group, Fergus behind.

Leliana sent an arrow through the forest, too fast to see, and a scream rewarded them. Elissa smiled coldly. And then there was no time for smiling as the enemy melted out of the trees, moving lightly. Their grace was beautiful and deadly, but she just wanted them dead. The guards shifted nervously, less hardened, and the Crows noticed the weaker targets. They angled towards them, trying for quick kills, but she and Alistair raced to intercept while the dog circled behind the assassins. Leliana took down another archer. Elissa and Alistair clashed with the nearest melee fighters, staying out of the range of the brawler as best they could.

Fortunately they seemed to have no mages in the group. Alistair's Templar skills likely wouldn't have been enough to manage one, but with only fighters she knew they'd have an easy time. They moved in harmony, drawing the Crows back, separating them from one another, then turning on them and making short work. They'd killed two more, with the guards taking a third, when Elissa realized she was out of position, that Alistair had moved without her seeing, and she was cut off. The brawler roared next to her, closer than she'd realized. She swung her shield towards him instinctively, even as she thought coolly that he'd probably break her arm or worse.

Then Alistair leapt forward, shoving her out of the way and taking the full force of the blow on his side. He fell to the ground. Time slowed to a crawl, and the world narrowed until it was her, her sword, and his body in front of her, not moving.

A scream tore from her mouth, and she lost herself.

She cut down the giant fighter at his knees before he'd finished gloating over his kill. As he fell, she stabbed him savagely, spraying his blood in a wide arc over the grass when she yanked her sword backward. He died choking on his own blood, but she barely noticed. She mechanically noted Leliana's move to Alistair and pressed forward quickly to scatter the enemy away from them. Leliana fired only a few more arrows before stopping to kneel, but it didn't matter. The Hero rose inside of her, full of pain and hurt, and it needed no one to help her finish this.

A Crow who was slicing at the terrified guards fell to her precise, howling slashes. He struck out as he died, killing the mabari flanking him and unleashing another wave of sweet fury inside of her. The enemy stopped trying for the guards and focused their attentions on her and the threat she posed. She could have told them it was too late.

One grazed her cheek with a dagger that she dodged, and she knocked him over with her shield before gutting him. Again she thrust out, parrying away dagger blows and sword strikes with inhuman ease. They dropped to her sword, over and over again. Their limbs fell if they were quick, their bodies if they weren't, spilling hot, red blood on her weapon until no metal remained. She felt herself laughing, a hard sound that held no joy. The dance of her weapon was the only pleasure there was. They died around her, brutally, and then only one remained.

The woman, a dark-haired rogue with too many scars, threw down her daggers and lowered her open hands in surrender. "I submit," she said in rolling Antivan accents. "I offer myself as your prisoner and beg your mercy."

Elissa stepped towards her, slowly. "Kneel," she said. The woman did so, eyes hard and unyielding, as Zevran's were when he fought. The eyes of a true assassin. Elissa raised her bloody shield high and slammed it across her face. The woman's nose broke underneath it, and she gave a low cry. Her shield struck the woman again, and again, before she reached across her neck with her blade and slit her throat. "No mercy," she said. Her self floated through her soul on a sea of rage, and she looked at the mangled bodies around her with dark satisfaction. Her eyes rested on the still form of her mabari, and she silently sent him to the Maker as best she could. He'd given his life to save the guards from their inexperience. She heard a sound behind her and turned.

One of the Highever guards was throwing up on the grass. He was young, she remembered, with wide blue eyes and an easy smile. He called her m'lady with a smirk when she met him in the halls and was courting one of the maids. He couldn't meet her eyes. Neither could the others that had come with them, though they all lived. Fergus stood behind them with an open mouth. His clean broadsword dangled from his hand as he looked at her with undisguised horror. He thought she was a monster.

She looked around emptily, taking in the circle of corpses around her. Her mind tried to hold on, remember why it was needed, but shame pierced her battle rage and hollowed it out. She dropped her bloody sword and shield to the ground and took a long step away. Her armor was covered in gore. She hadn't worn a helm for the scouting, and her hair stank with the blood of the dead. She was a monster. Her brother should finally know.

The feeling of magic drew her eyes to the first place she didn't want to look. Zevran lay on his stomach, breathing shallowly. Wynne didn't look up as she worked on him, but the grim set of her eyes told Elissa all she needed to know. Her stomach clenched. Dizziness swam through her, and she knew she was going to pass out. Sweat dripped into the cut on her cheek and stung her, and she was grateful for the pain. It brought her back to herself. She had one last image to face.

She turned to where Alistair lay. Leliana kneeled over him, crying gently, but she still worked with her healing supplies and potions. Maybe not dead then. Maybe just unconscious. Maybe still alive for the people who needed him. Maybe maybe maybe. The rhythm of the hope beat dully in her heart as she remembered the savagery of the blow he'd taken. He'd stepped in front of her, reckless, and tried to shield her from what should have been hers. She was his protector. She took the blows so that he didn't have to. He was the important one. She wanted to go to him but couldn't bring herself to move.

At that a wave broke inside of her, and she took off her gauntlets and threw them aside. What was the point of her, if they got hurt? What was the point of this life, if the people she loved could die? She stripped off her breastplate and threw it even farther. Why had she let them keep her? Why hadn't she run? They were here, dying, because she was weak, because she couldn't do what needed to be done and leave them. Her greaves followed the rest of her armor with a clang. She should have died at the Tower. Zevran should be alive, not risking himself for the womb of a woman with nothing to give the world but a blade. Alistair should be whole, with a wife who wasn't a monster, one who made him happy instead of afraid. With Leliana, who loved him in a way he deserved, and not in the cold, selfish way she loved. Even her mabari had been more faithful than she had.

She sank to the ground and put her head between her knees. Her hands gripped her legs with painful, bruising force as she sobbed. Her eyes screwed shut against the vision of their bodies, her friends cold and unmoving. She prayed to the Maker as she never had before. _Trade me for them. Let them live. I want to die. They're better, needed. Don't take them._ Her tears came so forcefully there was no room for sound, and every time they gripped her she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She was glad. If her breath could bring them back, she would give it without question.

But her traitorous lungs would contract every time, and a barking wail would rip itself from her as bitter air filled them. She cried and prayed and wished and begged for a long time.

She didn't know how long it had been when she felt arms around her. Her eyes still stared inside her own darkness, but she knew their strength immediately. Alistair. His armor was gone, but she still smelled it on him, and his breath came strong and alive on her neck. She cried harder, confused and disbelieving. His voice whispered into her ear while he rocked her. "Elissa. It's okay. I'm okay. Zevran is okay." He kissed her hair and ran his hands through it, even with the blood that matted it, and she slowly breathed more evenly. "Don't be afraid. We're fine. Thank you."

At that she finally raised her head and leaned back. Why thank her? She looked at him through blurry eyes. Blood ran down his shirt, his own. Bruises blossomed on the parts of his chest and arms she could see, and he likely had cracked ribs only partially mended. She knew he must be in terrible pain even with the healing potions. The sobbing came again, and he pulled her back to him without hesitation.

She turned her head aside and saw Zevran sitting up, pale but moving. He smiled at her, a ghost of his old grin. She couldn't meet his eyes and buried her head in Alistair's chest. _I love you. I__'m sorry_, she tried to say, but her grief gave her no words. He seemed to understand anyway and tightened the circle of his arms against his own injuries. She felt his own tears washing over her, making her clean. They held each other for a long time, under the bright sunlight, until they had no tears left.


	19. Second-guessing

Once Wynne declared them all safe to move, they slowly made their way back to the keep. The first guards they met ran back for more healers, and Elissa winced at the relief on the mage's face. She looked tired and wan. Elissa resolved to make her rest that night, no matter how much she argued.

She also resolved to hug her as soon as possible when they reached the castle and made for the healing rooms. Wynne took one look at her stricken face and commanded both men be placed in the same room, without any other patients, for needed privacy for the Council. Fortunately there was a large, empty room available, which spared Elissa the guilt of displacing ill people for her need not to decide between them. Without comment, after Alistair and Zevran were settled, the three women chose among the other beds. The five of them slept soundly that night, comforted by the sounds of the others breathing and alive. Like camp, with softer beds. Like home.

Of course, she hadn't considered their close quarters would make it nearly impossible for her to speak to Zevran alone the next morning. A public venue hadn't really been in her plans, but Leliana and Wynne sat conspicuously at the small table they'd acquired. When she looked at them, Leliana twitched her mouth just so, and Elissa gave up on them leaving. Alistair dozed lightly across the room as his crushed side continued to heal. She traced the lines of his face carefully. He looked better. He looked perfect. She turned away with a sigh and sat on the edge of Zevran's bed.

The elf looked up at her with his usual wicked grin. "Have you come to welcome me back more enthusiastically than before?" He indicated his bandaged shoulder. "While there are positions that will be rendered difficult in my condition, I'm most willing to work through another solution with you."

She tried to glare at him, but a small smile slipped through. "With my betrothed in his bed not ten feet away?"

"He's welcome to join in! As are the lovely ladies listening in. So much beauty in one room should never be wasted." Wynne chuckled, and Leliana cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Ah well. Let us leave the option open, then."

Elissa grew serious as she looked at him. He was paler than usual, despite his bravado, and his face was terribly thin. He'd clearly been under stress for a long time. "You are the stupidest elf I've ever met," she said softly.

"Yes, but my hero saved me, as I knew she would," he said, smiling. "I store up favors just for this reason."

"It's not funny. You could have died." When he only looked at her, she squirmed a little at the hypocrisy. "You could have died for something meaningless."

"Your happiness is the only meaning I have." He fluttered his hand over his heart.

"I'm happy when you're safe. When I don't have to worry about you doing anything more dangerous than flirting with a married woman."

He lost his merry demeanor. "Tell me you do not want children. His children." Her breath hitched, and she looked at their companions nervously. Alistair still slept, to her relief. "I know you better than anyone, my friend. I see what you will not admit. Our favorite sovereign wears his heart openly, and I knew what would happen when you woke. I also knew what would continue to happen. You're so very principled. Your worst quality, if I'm being honest. Your joy would burn hot and then fade, once you remembered the limits your Warden heritage placed on you. The reality of his choice would appear, that he'd sold the future of his country to buy you. A rift, ready to open, that would never close. Unless I found the witch, and she told me the solution I knew she carried. I made the choice."

"You made it? Leliana told me that she asked you to go." She looked at the bard, who scratched her fingers on the table. Zevran smiled again.

"My dear Leliana. Trying to shield me from the Lady's rage? I never would have believed you cared so much." He laughed at her persistent silence, then turned his eyes back to Elissa. "I decided. I succeeded. I returned. And I got to see some lovely friends in Antiva City in the flesh once again. Quite a bit of flesh, if I say so myself."

Elissa crossed her arms. "I haven't seen any evidence of success."

"My success is for his eyes only," he said, tipping his head at the sleeping king. "Morrigan's orders. Motherhood has not softened our former comrade, except in ways she would forbid me to comment on. Though she did help me escape when my former brethren caught my trail. She's become quite adept at concealing spells, for obvious reasons. I wouldn't have made the port without her." He took her hand. "She was too skilled at them for me to have found her through my own talents. I believe she wanted me to ask my questions for you both. The woman is capable of more love than she pretends."

She flushed at the understanding in his eyes. "I'm still mad at you. And I'm never letting you out of my sight again. I'd tie you to a chair when we got back to Denerim if I didn't think you'd like it too much." He squeezed her fingers and released them with a wink. She looked around. "At least you'll be curtailed from your activities in here. Sufficient punishment for you."

He smiled broadly. "How you underestimate me. And you underestimate your own skill at staying asleep. One of your lovely healers has been very attentive to her patient."

* * *

><p>They eventually moved out of the sickroom and to their own quarters again, and the separation made her ache. Her days were spent avoiding every other person in the keep, especially her brother. News of her brutality had spread, and she wasn't sure if she was more uncomfortable with the ones who feared her or the ones who adored her. Both reactions rested heavily on her shoulders. She'd killed eight men and women. That they'd deserved it seemed irrelevant to those afraid. That they'd been people seemed irrelevant to the rest.<p>

Either way, she felt differently now because they felt differently about her. When she'd killed darkspawn and arch-demons, they'd cheered. When she taught people to fight their own oppressors, they'd grown strong. When she murdered men in her backyard, they set her apart. She wasn't the same as the rest. She was a killer. It had never been clearer.

When she did go out, she rode for hours. Fergus tried to send guards with her, then Alistair after him when he was recovered enough to understand what was happening, but she slipped them so often that they gave up. More often than not she found herself in a remote clearing that held two memorials. She sat on the grass between them, her parents and her savior, and asked them silent questions. There were no answers but the ones she supplied herself.

One overcast day, Alistair found her deep in thought. He settled next to her and leaned forward on his knees. "I thought you'd be here."

She didn't look around. "No guards? Are they afraid to be alone with me?"

"I asked them to stay behind." Which wasn't a no. "I didn't want anyone else around for this."

"I see."

He chuckled, not unkindly. "You see nothing, Elissa. Not me. And certainly not yourself." His voice sharpened. "Are you planning to leave?"

"How did you know?"

"I know you."

She sighed. "I'm not good for you. It's better that I go."

"I'll decide who is good for me."

"You don't understand," she said, voice breaking. "I know who I am, now. When you fell, I didn't run to you. I didn't help you. I fell on your attackers and murdered them. I was proud of myself for doing it, until Fergus showed me what it meant." She looked at Duncan's memorial. "I love you more than anyone in this world, and when you were hurt, I didn't heal you. I didn't even try. I simply killed, savagely. Mindlessly. Unrelentingly. What kind of person does that? That's not the way to love someone. That's not the kind of love that you deserve."

Her voice lowered to a whisper. "It's not the kind of love that you would give."

He didn't answer for a long time. When he took in a breath, she braced herself, but he surprised her with a question. "Do you know when I fell in love with you?" She shook her head minutely. "It wasn't at any of the usual times. It wasn't when we first met, though I thought you were beautiful. It wasn't when you walked out of Flemeth's hut, alive and strong, though I'd never been so grateful to see someone in my entire life. It wasn't even during the many times you sat and listened to me feel sorry for myself, mourning Duncan and the Grey Wardens and ignoring your pain. You were supportive and grave and said all the things I needed to hear, but it was still nothing more than affection. Comradery. Lust.

"No, it wasn't any of those times, though I imagine one of them will go into the history books. It was outside of Lothering, when we met the bandits. Remember them? Maybe not. It was a long time ago, and they weren't very important. You took the lead, like I would force you to do for the rest of the Blight, and they tried to threaten us. Then they tried to bribe us. You ignored both and chose to fight. We destroyed them handily. The leader was the last one standing, and he surrendered. He offered to leave, offered us his things, just asked for his life. And I remember, so clearly, how you smiled. Your face was sympathetic, almost friendly. And you walked up to him and killed him without a word."

She looked at him, questioning, and he laughed a little. "No, that wasn't the moment. Not really. I've never had a fetish for death. But I asked you later, in the town, why you did it. Why you didn't let him go. I would have. Even Morrigan might have, spooky witch that she is. You told me that we wouldn't be back to take care of him the next time he threatened someone. You said it was certain that he would, because what else could he do? We had to take care of the problems in front of us now, permanently, or they would never be taken care of at all."

"I lied, Alistair. I told you that because it was nobler than the truth. I was angry and out of control. He made me sick, and I wanted him to pay."

"I know you think you lied. And in some ways maybe you did. But there's another part, a secret part that even you don't know. While we talked, your eyes rested on a little girl. She was with the Chantry sisters, alone. I don't know if her parents were dead. Maybe they were just inside, or around the corner. Maybe she'd never had them at all. But the look on your face wasn't anger. It was the desire to protect. You had such a terrible hunger to save them from their pain, the little girls without parents, the villagers without food, the country without hope, no matter what it cost you. You had the biggest heart in all of Ferelden, and I was the only one who saw it. I've loved you ever since." He shrugged. "Even when I don't like you very much, I love you."

She shook her head. "No. I wish that were true, but it isn't. It's something you want to be true about me, to make me better than I am."

"You'll never convince me I'm wrong. You, the Hero of Ferelden, the woman who has dozens of scar lines on her back that she took in a heartbeat to keep me alive and clean. You told me once you made yourself a weapon, but in truth you made yourself a shield. A shield can hurt someone, if it needs to, but it mostly defends. And you made yourself into one big enough to hold an entire world. The only trouble is that a shield can never save itself from damage. It's scratched and scored and bent. You repair it, and it just gets battered again. Sometimes it starts to think that if it's not hurt in some way, it's not worthwhile. It's okay to be fixed, Elissa. It's okay to be smooth."

He reached out and touched her cheek. She looked inside herself for the person he described and found nothing. "I only see a killer."

"Even the best defenders still have to kill. I should know." He stood up. "I understand that you're afraid of yourself, but your friend aren't afraid of you. We cherish you. All of you. There are no wrong ways to love. I'm grateful for everyone who loves me, however they do it. But after all we've gone through, whatever made you imagine my heart wouldn't be captured by a woman who threw herself body and soul into the fight?"

* * *

><p>Alistair made his way gingerly down the hall. Horse-riding was bad at the best of times and recently mended cracked ribs were not the best of times. He'd been paying for the trip all day, but he didn't regret it. He knew he'd said enough to keep her here. Sometimes it felt like that was all he did, tie the cords faster to her than she could untie them, but she was who he wanted. Who he needed. For better or worse, as they said.<p>

He put his hand to the letter he carried in his pocket. Written in Morrigan's scrawling hand, it was the last piece of the life he was trying to build. An acerbic, insulting piece, but the piece he'd been hoping for even harder than he'd realized.

_Of course Grey Warden babies aren't born darkspawn. Only you would think something so ridiculous. Babies are babies. She's young and healthy, you're not entirely unappealing, have all the babies you want. The taint simply makes it difficult for the child to form. I've enclosed the recipe for a very esoteric potion that should allow Wardens to conceive, courtesy of my mother's tomes, since that is the only barrier to starting your royal brood._

Not all she'd written, by a long shot, but the part that mattered. Zevran and Wynne had confirmed that the potion wasn't actually a poison, and that nothing in it would kill them if taken in normal doses. Now he just had to talk her into wanting to use it.

* * *

><p>His door opened late that night. His room was completely dark, and he leaned up on his elbow when light flooded it. Elissa stood in silhouette, hesitation in every line of her body. He would know her shape anywhere. He fell back and beckoned her in, and she crept into the bed like a frightened child. She trembled a little as she stretched out next to him, and he made soothing circles on her back with his hand. When he kissed the top of her head, she relaxed a little and wrapped her arm around his chest more fully.<p>

He noticed how careful she was with his bruises, moving around them even in the dark. She must have been paying more attention to his injuries than he'd thought, though she'd been avoiding him. It settled something inside of him. She'd said she loved him, but words were easy, even for her. He'd been afraid that's all they were.

Her soft breathing and the scent of her hair were lulling him to sleep when she spoke quietly. "Did you mean what you said? That you love me even when you don't like me?"

"Yes."

"I want you to do both. I want to be someone you can like. Tell me how."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "Well, Lady, this is a good start." She huffed a laugh into his neck. "There are many times I like you. Even while we're fighting. You're very likeable, as noble ladies go. But it would be nice if, when I do something that disappoints you, you took ten seconds to get really mad, instead of your usual one. It would give me more time to adjust."

She snarled, and he smiled into the dark. "Mostly I would like if you talked to me, even when you're upset. Your anger closes you up, especially from me. I don't ask you to give up the anger, because that burning core is a beautiful part of you, a part I treasure even when it's not saving Thedas. But at least talk to me. Don't shut yourself away."

"I'll try," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry I am the way that I am."

"Never apologize to me for your nature, sweetheart. It's a thing I love most dearly, not a burden to be carried. If you ever doubt that, come to me. I'll set you straight. I hope you'll do the same for me."

Her lips sought his blindly, desperately. He responded, giving her the slow, thorough kisses she needed. His fingers traced her ear while their tongues played lazily together. Rough hands whispered over his skin, soothing him, and he nearly cried at the relief they brought. They were mended again, no longer broken. The healing, as always, had been long and difficult. But only the simplest dances were short, and she was the most complicated dance he would ever know.

His focus sharpened as his own, very different, need grew. He pressed himself against her, wanting her to feel his desire, and she sucked in a sharp breath that sent him reeling. His fingers undid the lacing at the back of her gown, then drew it down to give him access to her breasts. It was dark, too dark to see, but he didn't need light to remember the contours of her scars or the way she liked to be touched. She whimpered a little as he rubbed gentle circles over her nipple with his thumb. His mouth on hers was anything but gentle, taking exactly what he'd been denied for too long.

And then it was his turn to breathe in as her hand reached his waistband and slipped inside, stroking him roughly. He leaned back instinctively. "Careful," he gasped. "It's been a while."

His reaction only seemed to spur her on, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine the smile of wicked delight gracing it. He rolled away quickly, drawing a noise of protest, and he stripped himself of everything he was wearing. He looked back to see her doing the same, wriggling out of the thin cotton gown she wore and throwing it on the floor. She left her underclothes on, in deference to him, and proving that she was focused only on his pleasure, tonight. Flattering, but not what he wanted.

He heard her gasp when he reached over and divested her of her last remaining clothing. He ran a finger over her exposed skin. She was deliciously wet, and he bit his lip to hold back a groan. "I thought… I'm not sure if I'll be able to stop, like this," she said. Even in the dim light, he saw her attention was fixated at his hips. He crawled back to her, liking the way her breathing grew shallow when he finally straddled her.

"We won't stop, then," he said, leaning down to kiss her again.

"You wanted to wait," she mumbled against his lips.

He stretched his body over hers, favoring his sore side. His length rested against her thigh, and, despite her reminder of his wants, she gently moved under him, rubbing it against her bare skin. She was driving him crazy. He loved it. "I've recently learned in a very graphic way that waiting for things is dangerous to my health." He drew a breath, tried to slow down. His mouth found her breast while his hand reached between their hips to rub her firmly. He was doing a terrible job at slowing down. Between his kisses and her moans, he said, "Besides, if we're going to have those heirs, we should practice."

Fingers in his hair, then, yanking him up. She peered at him through the gloom. "Then it's possible? Morrigan knew something?"

He slid up her body in answer, taking her mouth again mercilessly. He pressed himself against her entrance, and she arched herself up trying to draw him inside. She was ready for him, but he hesitated. She pulled her mouth away from his and growled into his ear. "You'd better not be teasing me again."

"No," he whispered. "I just… I need…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, but somehow she knew. Her frustration vanished as she kissed his jaw.

"I love you," she said, and there were tears in her voice.

At that he entered her, swiftly, and she felt better than he'd ever dreamed. It was a body in the dark underneath him, but now it was Elissa, passionate and beautiful and his. She clutched at his back and raised her hips to take him fully. Ignoring the pain in his side and the ache in his arm, he drove himself into her and carried them both to the heights they wanted. He moved faster as she urged him on, matching his movements with her own strength. When she crested and tightened around him, he followed soon after. She whispered the affirmation of her love again and again as he emptied himself inside of her.


	20. Speaking

Alistair woke the next morning with an odd blend of contentment and nervousness. The cause of both was currently snoring softly beside him. She looked so innocent. Well, her face did. Her body, uncovered and perfectly visible in the streaming sunlight, looked anything but innocent to him. Before he could go too far down that path, he rolled out of bed and dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. He stepped into the hall and flagged down the nearest footman. The man could barely look at him, let alone take instruction, but he eventually managed to understand the messages. Leliana to be told that the King was unavailable for the morning. Breakfast to be brought to his room. The footman bowed his way down the hall, and Alistair braced himself.

When he walked back into the bedroom, Elissa stirred. She blinked and stretched before focusing her dark, sleepy eyes on his face. Her mouth curved up, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless. Instead, he sat on the end of the bed. She frowned a little, then really looked at him. "You're dressed." She pulled the sheets up over herself self-consciously. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I just had to let Leliana know I didn't want to be disturbed."

"Oh." She relaxed, but still looked uncertain. She clutched the sheet a little tighter. "I'm sorry I barged in last night like I did. I wasn't… I hope it was okay."

His heart sank. She thought she'd disappointed him. Wonderful start. "No! No that was excellent. Really. Very welcome. I'm perfectly happy that you came." He felt his face flushing.

Her eyes sparkled a little. "I was happy you did, too." She looked away. "But you have a look on your face like I'm going to get a lecture. Sort of like my father used to look when I got into the wine cellar."

He felt a little queasy about being compared in any way to her father while she was so undressed, but before he could respond there was a knock at the door. He rose to answer it, and a series of servants brought in trays of food. Enough for two people, he noticed. The last maid in handed him a bundle of women's clothing. Elissa's. He smiled sourly. "Thank the Lady Leliana for me." She bowed and walked out.

Elissa hadn't moved when he came back in. He handed her the fresh clothing and walked into the sitting room to avoid temptation. She came in hesitantly. To take the bruised look out of her eyes he crossed the room and kissed her deeply. Well, and for one other reason. "Just to remind you I'm not even close to being your father," he said after he pulled back. She smiled slightly. They sat down to the table and ate breakfast in companionable silence. He'd been ravenous since the healing and ate heartily, but the tension started to rise as soon as they were done. Nothing to do but dive in. He prayed to the Maker to make him not sound like an idiot.

"We can't keep doing this," he said abruptly.

She hugged herself tightly. "Okay. I'm sorry we broke all of your rules. It's not that much longer until the wedding. I can wait."

"I can't." She looked up in surprise. "That's not what I meant. We're going to repeat last night as often and enthusiastically as possible, if that's okay with you."

"Then what -"

He interrupted. "We're good in the bedroom. You're good. Better than good. And we're good on the battlefield, a few giant's blows aside. We're even good at ruling. I'm a pretty good King, though I say it myself, and you might not have the title yet, but you've been the Queen of this country to the people for a long time. The only place we're bad is here." He laid his hand over his heart, and she winced. "It has to stop."

To his relief, she nodded sharply and sat forward. There were no more bruises in her eyes. When she rolled her fingers on the table and frowned, his relief quickly turned to alarm. It was always terrifying when she focused on something so intensely. He supposed he only had himself to blame. "What do you suggest?"

* * *

><p>They talked for a long time about trust and honesty from him, about patience and commitment from her. They spoke more freely than they ever had, and while it didn't solve the puzzle totally, for the first time he felt like she was tying herself to him just as tightly as he was to her. He promised not to hide things from her because he was afraid she wouldn't like them. She promised she wouldn't turn away from him when she didn't like them. It was good, and real. The fact that they ended the session back in bed, not talking, was the best part of all.<p>

When they were satisfied, they lay together for some time. She traced letters with her fingers on his chest, and he smiled at the little messages she sent through the tracings. And blushed at some of the more graphic ones. He still wasn't used to such frankness about sex, unless he was in the middle of it, but he was happy to try to get there with her. Eventually she stopped and rolled over him. Her hair hung down as she straddled his stomach, and he reached up to play with the auburn curtain above him. She hummed happily.

"Since we're being honest today, there's something I should tell you," she said. He raised his eyebrows and continued to twirl her hair around his fingers. "Ostagar wasn't the first time I met you."

"If you tell me that you met me in your dreams I will toss you out of my chambers this instant. Cliché endearments are my domain."

She laughed. "No. Not in dreams. In reality. My father was good friends with Arl Eamon. Did you think I never visited Redcliffe?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I thought you might have. I remember Cousland guards, their horses, but I was still the stain underneath the nobility's boot back then. I never met any of the grand visitors." He heard the bitterness in his voice. She didn't try to take it away, which he appreciated.

"Maybe not in the Hall. But when you're a young girl in a crotchety old man's castle, you don't amount to much either no matter what your last name. Fergus and Teagan always left me out, Isolde thought me too boring and Eamon thought me too female to be included in anything interesting. So once when I was there I decided to sneak down to the armory in my training clothes and try out some of his swords. My father still only allowed me small daggers or wooden practice swords, but I was convinced I was ready to handle a real blade."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve. I'm sure I would have severely injured myself if I'd gotten there. But I never made it. I walked through the stable yards on the way and saw a boy, just a little older than me, talking to my horse. I wanted to hear what he was saying, so I snuck up close behind him." He dropped his hand and stared at her, incredulous. She smiled a little. "He was telling her funny stories, things a horse probably liked to know about the world around her. It could have just been a boy who loved animals, but the way he talked to her, how long he talked to her, made it seem like he was a little lonely. It also made it seem like he didn't like nobles very much. I wanted a friend, and didn't much want to be noble at the moment, so when he saw me I told him my name was Ellie. I said -"

"That your father was a merchant, stopping in the village, and you'd run up to see the castle while he was busy." He said it almost in a whisper as he searched her face. "That was you?" She nodded. He leaned back and remembered. The merchant girl had helped him do his chores in record time, teasing and laughing with him, then spent the afternoon running around the castle at his heels. She'd wanted to see all of the servants' places, boring to him, but she'd been fascinated by all of the hidden life in them. They'd ended up in a corner of the laundry area with handfuls of stolen food from the kitchen, giggling at their carefully executed heist.

She'd been evasive about her time on the road, about her father, but had peppered him with questions about himself. No one had ever asked him anything about himself before, and he'd felt his story tumbling out before he knew it. Not about his parentage, or the things he'd been drilled from birth never to say, but just about what he was like. What he thought. She'd listened to him so carefully, and she'd laughed in all the right spots. He'd been extremely distracted by the way she put her hand to her lips when she giggled.

When she'd reluctantly said her father would be waiting for her, his heart had dropped, but he'd led her back to the stables without protest. She'd curtsied prettily to him, a strange farewell, and he hadn't been brave enough to ask if she would come back. Just as well, because she never had.

He looked up at the figure over him and tried to find the line between that giggly girl he remembered and the powerful warrior he knew. So much had happened inside of her since then. He thought back to her voice raised in drunken, happy song, the night they reached Highever, and the line was so clear he didn't know how he hadn't figured it out himself. He rubbed his hand along her arm. "That was one of the only happy days I spent in Redcliffe after Isolde came. I remember it so clearly. I can't believe I didn't see."

She bit her lip. "There wasn't a lot of Ellie left at Ostagar."

"She's the beating heart inside of you. I should have known." He paused. "I was so disappointed when you never came back."

"I didn't think I could keep up the act if I saw you again, and we left Redcliffe shortly after anyway. I hid my face from you in the stable yard when we got our mounts. I didn't want you to know I was one of those hateful nobles. Then the next time we came back I was old enough and trained enough for flirting that Teagan didn't send me away anymore, though Fergus would have still done so happily. And by then I'd figured out who you were. Who you really were, I mean. The Theirin that we didn't talk about." She played with the chain around his neck. "You might have gone to the Chantry by then anyway. I looked for you and didn't find you."

He smiled at that, and she looked relieved that he wasn't angry. "If the sisters only knew how I remembered you, they would have made me sing chants for a week. I may have to revise the origins of our love story when I tell it to the historians. I always regretted not trying a kiss with Ellie before she left, you know." He had to ask. "Why didn't you tell me before? When we met?"

She blushed. "I didn't know if you'd remember, and if you did I wasn't sure you'd be happy about it. I could see you didn't recognize me, and I'd basically lied to you to get you to waste an afternoon showing me around a castle I was staying in. You had even more pain inside of you. With the mages, with the king. It seemed unwise to bring up the past. I didn't know then how much I would go through together with the handsome stable boy who talked to horses. "

"I might not have been happy about it then, that's true. Mostly because Duncan frowned on Grey Wardens kissing their conscripts. But I'm glad to know you again, now, Ellie the merchant girl." And then he really laughed. "I guess some things never change. The next day I abandoned my work and ran down to the village to look for this merchant and his daughter. I never found anyone who knew who they were. I put it down to my poor, stammering description. When I got back, Eamon blistered my ear for shirking my responsibilities. I never told him it was for a girl. And now he's been blistering them, through Teagan, for the last year for doing it again to a whole kingdom. I've gotten hundreds of letters from him, first for not selecting a wife, then for choosing one who might not bear children."

She grinned at the mention of children and scooted back down his body. He caressed her skin with his palm and felt himself stir again. "I should have known there was only one woman who could drive me to such irresponsibility so frequently."

* * *

><p>They spent another week in Highever, waiting for Zevran and Alistair to fully recover. Elissa wasn't sad to go. Highever was more peaceful insider he now, the ghosts settled, but it wasn't her home anymore. It was a place that confused her, tore her apart again into different people. Like it or not, her home was in Denerim, with the friends who saw all of the parts of her and were never afraid.<p>

Fergus saw them off, and it was good because they'd reached a peace. But she saw reservation in his eyes when he looked at her and felt a barrier between them that had mostly to do with her sword. He couldn't quite call her little sister anymore, not without hesitation in his voice. When he hugged her goodbye, he didn't muss her hair. It stung her heart as they rode away, like she'd forgotten to take something with her. Zevran distracted her with detailed and inappropriate questions about Alistair's prowess and how well he was employing the elf's lessons until the King threatened to shoot him in the other shoulder, just to keep it even. As she laughed she let go of the hurt and let the love of her friends replace it. Zevran's easy devotion. Alistair's quiet faith. Wynne's maternal indulgence. And even Leliana's determined esteem, the one that pushed her most into blending a true whole out of her pieces.

The bard showed her as much when they stopped for camp that night. She hugged Elissa close and congratulated her sincerely. "I was worried to leave, with how things have been. No longer. Ferelden will be as strong as the two of you are." Only a single tear escaped her self-control. She waved away Elissa's attempts at comfort. "I would only continue to lie to him, were it me. You will protect him with the truth and the point of your sword. It's what will make him happy." They said nothing more about it.

Later, when Elissa showed her a letter she would send to the Crows, Leliana smiled at her proudly. It politely demanded a summit with them, to discuss the terms of a peace accord that would keep them all alive. Enclosed were twelve bloody tokens, one taken off of each body in Highever. It was signed by the Queen of Ferelden.

* * *

><p>Back in Denerim her life was too busy to brood. Wedding planners manhandled her, information gathering preoccupied her, training challenged her, and Alistair consumed her. Guests arrived daily, and Denerim's taverns and inns were full to bursting with spectators. Despite herself she started to enjoy the constant energy around her, even the fakely polite conversations with diplomats and nobles. Battles were where you found them, and her increasingly dark reputation meant that sharp looks in her eyes never failed to evoke the response she wanted.<p>

The Council grew less and less needed as the King's confidence reached new heights. She realized, chagrined, that his uncertainty about her, about the appropriateness and viability of his feelings, had been what was keeping him from believing he could rule without committee. He still asked advice and valued all of their input, but he seemed less afraid to make a choice. She understood now what Leliana had meant about her being a weapon against him and resolved to never let him doubt himself again on her account.

Back in the palace he again came to her rooms exclusively and never spent the night, but their physical relationship remained unchanged. He spoke longingly of the time after they were wed, when her suite would be connected to his by a door, and he wouldn't have to endure the knowing smiles of every person who passed him in the hallway on his treks. She looked at him seriously. "Even when we're married, I want you to use the halls. That way every enterprising lady in the kingdom will know that your affections are fully occupied, and exactly how often they are. They need to be made aware of the nature of our relationship, or we'll never hear the end of it." His mouth dropped open, and she couldn't hold back her laugh.

He swatted her with a pillow. "I liked it better when I made the jokes and you suffered through them."

She swatted him back. "But then you weren't sleeping with me."

"I'll have to figure out if think it's a fair trade." Before she could respond, he was on her, and she made sure his conclusion was very, very certain.

* * *

><p>The day before the wedding they separated them, per tradition, and she paced in her room. She was supposed to be thinking holy thoughts about how to be a proper Andrastian wife, but mostly she was thinking about getting to the day after the wedding, when everything would be different and yet entirely the same. Only when Wynne and Leliana joined her did she settle down even slightly. She looked at the dress hanging conspicuously in her wardrobe and shivered in anticipation. She was wrong. It wouldn't be the same at all.<p> 


	21. Satisfying

The Chantry was packed to the rafters, to the point where she wasn't sure if there would be a path left for her to walk through. Alistair hadn't wanted to be exclusionary, and she'd secretly delighted in the nobles that would have to rub elbows with commoners, so they'd thrown the doors open to the entire city. Of course, that meant even more guards, so even more people, but it was worth it to know that some of the ladies-in-waiting who stared daggers at her every day would be forced to the back of the hall. She'd planned to do her own scan for threats on her trip down the aisle, which had been aggressively cleared, but as soon as she stepped into his sightline Alistair commanded her entire attention. Even so far away that she couldn't see his face, she could see his nervous energy. She was no more able to look away than he was.

When she reached him, he took her hands gently. She saw he was crying, just a little, and she couldn't stop a smile. He smiled back and leaned over her. "I like your braids," he whispered, and then she was crying, too.

The ceremony had never been important to her, not really. A ritual to get through before they got back to the relationship that needed no formalization. Their vows lived in the clash of their swords in the ring, testing each other's strength. Their trust lived in their smiles, which were secret and small and ever-present. Their love lived in the bedroom, where they explored each other's bodies until they'd memorized every line. Their devotion lived in the straight, silvery lines on her back, in the ache in his shoulder that would never quite leave. The marks that they'd given themselves in service of the other meant more than rings ever could. And yet when he slipped it, trembling, over her finger, and stared at her with terrified love, her heart leapt with a painful joy that she'd never thought she could feel.

It turned out she was a romantic, after all.

But not enough of one to let him have it all his own way. After the ceremony ended and the Grand Cleric asked them to rise, she pulled him to her roughly. He had no time to react before she kissed him intimately and thoroughly, to the great delight of the watching audience. A few whistles sounded through the building. Then came the stamping of feet, and applause, and before she finished the cheering was deafening. She stepped back and was gratified to see Alistair blushing deeply. But then he grinned, a small one, and wrapped his arms around her again. The Grand Cleric seemed taken aback, but Elissa thought it was the best part of the wedding by far.

* * *

><p>He'd insisted on her being formally coronated directly after they were married, the better to protect the throne. Her advisor side had seen the wisdom, but that side was growing ever smaller as she sat through the speeches. Fortunately, he'd also insisted that the more useless parts of it be excised, so it was much shorter than his had been. Arl Eamon had been outraged, but the way Alistair had coolly overrode his objections had done her heart good. Eamon had done nothing but make cutting remarks to her, out of the ear of his ward, since they'd found him in Denerim. She refused to give in to his desire to stir up trouble, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate the unwitting backup.<p>

The Arl watched her now, cold and fuming, and she supposed she could sit through this if it meant there was no question she could order him around afterwards. She sat straighter and stared at Alistair instead. He was warm and supportive, and she kept her eyes on him while the officiant spoke. When they placed the crown on her head he smirked. He mouthed silently, _You're trapped now._ She narrowed her eyes, and he grinned more broadly. Her decorum prevented her from making a rude gesture as she rose to the bows of the assembled. It did not prevent her from stepping firmly on his foot as he escorted her to their waiting carriage. Zevran laughed behind them when Alistair elbowed her back, and most of the ride back to the palace was spent in childish retribution until they had to kiss sweetly for all of the waiting staff to see.

* * *

><p>Alistair knew that something had happened to time. Some mage or other had definitely done something to make it crawl slower than it usually did. He fiddled with his ridiculous sash while they greeted every single resident of Fereldan. Probably twice. Elissa stood next to him seemingly delighted with every guest, though he knew from the irritated way she smoothed down her gown that she was anything but. If she could do it, so could he. He plastered a smile on his face and soldiered on. At least Zevran was providing some amusement. "With as many dances as you've promised these people, you'll have the band here until well into the next year," he said to the elf.<p>

"Isn't it marvelous? And those are just the ones spoken aloud! Some of the men here are very skilled with their eyebrows. My liege, if I could trouble upon you to wed again soon, I would be most grateful."

Leliana snorted, a genuine smile on her face. "As long as I don't have to deal with the security nightmares involved," she said.

"You think there's trouble?" muttered Elissa, bowing graciously to a gaggle of excited young men. Alistair gave them his best "eyes front" look, and they moved away quickly. "I have my daggers, if you need me."

"Oh, I know there's trouble. It's a royal wedding with hundreds of guests and a group of assassins hates you. But don't worry. Zevran and I are ready. Enjoy yourself."

"Yes, I will be examining many people here in very great detail. Do not fear." Zevran kissed a proffered hand with gusto, but his eyes were serious.

Teagan and Wynne were studiously ignoring all of them and doing their jobs. Eamon was fortunately too far down the line to hear them, but looked annoyed anyway. Alistair thought they all lacked a true sense of fun.

"I'm sorry," whispered Alistair in the next break in the line, "did you say that you're wearing your daggers?"

"Well, yes. It seemed wise." She bit her lip slightly. "I know that's not very romantic."

"You'd be amazed at how arousing I find an armed bride," he said, and she relaxed. He raised an eyebrow at her. "So you must be wearing them against your hips under all of that thatness." He waved his hands to encompass her fluffy skirt.

She glanced at him warily. "Yes."

"So that means there must be some way to access them. Without taking off the whole dress," he said. Zevran leaned back to examine her. "There's a hole there somewhere."

He reached out towards her subtly. She shifted away. "Hey! Just because you think I'm your shield doesn't mean you get to manhandle me whenever you want. Shields can be very spiky, you know."

The line was starting to wane, thankfully, and the servers made motions that it was time for them to sit and eat. He followed her to the table and murmured in her ear. "Please? I'm so bored."

She called behind her. "Zevran? Entertain my husband please."

"Excellent! Your Majesty, which conquest should I tell you about today?"

* * *

><p>It had taken longer than expected to eat, due to Leliana and Elissa insisting on several tests to make sure the food was safe. Luckily it was, and he wished he'd eaten it faster. He'd been pulled away halfway through to begin the dancing, and Leliana had assured him he'd be dancing longer than even Zevran at this reception. At least his first partner was known. He and Elissa danced gracefully, half of them. Her half. He just tried to keep up, mostly, and he was happy when the formal steps were over and they were joined by other couples. He relaxed a little into an informal closeness. She sighed contentedly up at him, her eyes sparkling, and he had to resist the urge to start searching for the holes in her dress again.<p>

Which reminded him. "Do tell me if I'm about to impale myself. I have a big night planned."

She rolled her eyes. "They're sheathed." She held a finger to his lips to forestall a response. "No Zevran-like comments, please. Your big night depends on my participation, I believe."

He kissed her softly. "Fine. I'll be on my best behavior." He looked up and tensed. Leliana was signaling guards across the room. He felt the same tension in her, and he wrapped her closer without thought.

"Zevran sees trouble," she whispered, a careful smile on her face.

"So does Leliana. Do you think they need us?"

She shifted her hands so they'd be closer to her hips. "Zevran says no. They want us to stay out here." He tried not to look around, to keep his face neutral. "It's going to be fine."

He believed her. "Of course it will. We're unstoppable." She kissed him on the cheek, and they moved closer together. He ran his fingers over her back, over the scars he'd memorized, and knew they wouldn't lose each other now. The Maker was kinder than that. He owed them.

The song stopped, they moved apart and bowed, and that's when it happened. Not that anyone else noticed. Only two warriors with long battle experience saw the way the way certain servers moved, the way the guards shifted in unison to capture them at the elbows. One moderately clever one shifted out of the trap, only to meet Zevran's less-than-gentle embrace on the other side. New servers replaced the old almost as quickly, and the entire room looked exactly the same before the applause ended. Leliana signaled the all-clear.

Elissa raised her eyebrow at him. "That was anticlimactic."

"I'm fine with that. Let's get through the rest of this so I can be on my worst behavior, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Leliana sought him out near the end of the evening. He was overjoyed to see her, a friendly face that he didn't have to be polite to, and led her to the dance floor gallantly. She thankfully didn't demand too much skill out of him, and they did little more than sway in terrible rhythm. He smiled at her. "Since I haven't seen you for a while, thanks for saving my life again today."<p>

She waved her hand dismissively. "That was a terrible plot. Almost insulting. I only moved so late because I was sure it was a cover for something more elegant. Likely the Crows knew they would fail. I'd guess they're agents they wanted burned, and they sent them to pretend they're keeping their hand in. They'll treat with you soon."

"You got all of that just tonight?"

"Well, more than just tonight. Elissa agrees with me. Teagan could have seen through this clumsy of a plot."

He laughed. "Where is Teagan, anyway? I expected him to be glued to your side." He looked around and saw his uncle surrounded by a group of suddenly very admiring noble ladies. "Ah," he said, embarrassed.

"Don't worry," she said. "We made our peace long ago. It was not meant to be. Which is what I need to tell you. Tomorrow I am leaving, to lend my services to the Chantry. A very old friend has asked me to do this, and I feel it's right."

He stopped moving and gaped. "You're leaving? Tomorrow? Why?"

"I can no longer fulfill the role you needed me for. Elissa has learned much and will likely be better at my job than I was, in her way. It's time for a change, for the good of Ferelden."

He shook his head impatiently. "I'm not worried about your job. Not that you aren't better at it than anyone ever could be, including my dear wife. You just stopped a group of assassins tonight without even interrupting the wine service. But who will take the place of my friend?" She looked down. "I love Elissa, and Zevran and Wynne and Teagan, but you're Leliana. The sister I never had. No one else can be that. Please don't go."

"I'll always be your friend, Alistair. The Chantry is not an enemy. Even if it were, I swear I would never work against you."

"That's not what I meant!"

Her cheeks colored a little. "I wish I could do as you want, but I can't. A friend asked this of me. I've given my word. Please don't make it harder. I know that you have a hard time letting some people go, but I am not some people. I ask you this as a favor." She smiled then. "And if you're thinking about causing yourself some injury to keep me here, don't give yourself the pain. What with you, Elissa and Zevran, I'm more than immune to that trick."

He sighed. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?" She nodded. He pulled her back into movement and folded her against his chest. "Okay. Two things. One, if this is because of Teagan, tell me and I will beat him senseless, even if he is my uncle. Two, if you're ever in Denerim and you don't stop in to say hello, I will stop saying the Chants entirely until you come back. I'll pray to the elven gods. I swear it."

She laughed against his chest. "Don't hurt poor Teagan, he's blameless. I swear it. And I will certainly stop in when I'm here. If only to test your new spymaster's capabilities." He kissed the top of her head. His heart ached as she hugged him close. She stepped away, and he let her go. "I'll come say goodbye tomorrow, if I can. Maker bless you both, Alistair. In fact, I'll make sure he does."

* * *

><p>Finally it was over. Plenty were still celebrating, but the guests of honor had stolen away to their suite. And yet the waiting continued. He cursed the likely enormous group of blood mages that had certainly messed with his specific time bubble. He paced his rooms while the maids did whatever they were doing with Elissa. He'd growled when she disappeared into her rooms, but she told him that she'd been threatened with worse than death if she harmed even a single thread on her gown. It was some kind of heirloom now.<p>

Given his mood, threads might have been all that were left, so he accepted her pronouncement.

Part of his frustration was almost certainly nerves. He'd hoped that their progressed sexual relationship would relieve the tension he felt, but if anything it had made it worse. They'd made love plenty of times, but it had always been gentle, fun, even a little silly. He didn't feel any of those things now. More like edgy. Possessive. Hungry. He didn't know how she would respond.

He looked over at his bed, the bed he'd lain awake in so many nights, thinking about her while she was away. He'd wished he was braver. He'd wished he hadn't relented his command and let her leave the city. He'd wished he'd ordered her to stay with him, always, no matter how unhappy it made her. In the daylight he'd known that was unfair, but in those dark, lonely nights he'd only felt aching need. He'd wanted control back. That feeling permeated his bed, even now whispered those thoughts into his mind every time he fell asleep. But she was here. Not just a body that was close enough. He'd ordered candles light throughout the room so he would see her face. He wanted to watch it while he dominated her.

His steps stuttered as shame washed through him. What kind of man thought that about the woman he loved? The woman he'd married? Just because she was his wife didn't mean she was his property. He groaned softly and wondered if it was appropriate to suggest they move to her bed for the evening. Then she stepped through the door, and he dismissed the thought immediately.

She wore a lighter version of her wedding gown, a scandalously shorter version. The material shone in the flickering lights and made it look like she was moving even as she stood still. Her feet were bare, and she wore no jewelry but the ring he'd placed on her earlier. Just looking at it brought out the possessive side of him again. They'd done… something with her hair to make it tumble around her shoulders, soft and light. He'd always imagined it that way. Did she know that? How much did she see in him?

He took a step towards her and stopped. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, demurely, like an innocent maiden. Her eyes were downcast, but a smile played across her lips. Something was happening he didn't understand.

"Are you cold?" He asked the first thing that came to mind. He mentally slapped himself. He sounded like an idiot. She shook her head. He looked for humor to break the tension. "You'd better not be wearing daggers under that thing."

And then her eyes peered up from under her lashes with a wicked glint. "I'm not wearing anything under it."

Whatever was inside of him roared approval, and he couldn't keep it chained anymore. "Get in the bed," he said in a rough voice. Her eyes widened a little, but she did as he demanded. She sat on the bed, amused. He stripped off his clothing quickly, walking towards her all the while. Her smile vanished, and he studied her face closely as he moved. Was she afraid of him? Nervous?

It took him a long second to realize she wasn't either. She was excited. Her eyes were smoky, and she watched him like she watched him in the training yard, trying to sense the energy of his body and where it was going to go. He remembered Amaranthine. He had no intention of losing this bout either. She slid herself back on the bed as he got closer, and he moved quickly to cover her, keep her still. She rolled her hips up to his with a gleam in her eyes. He stiffened, then whispered, "Don't." He kissed her swiftly, punishingly. He couldn't stop himself, but she responded with equal force. To his surprise, she curled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself into him as she opened her mouth to him.

He felt rather than heard a moan that started from deep inside of her, and he tore his mouth away to work down to her neck. He bit and licked it eagerly. She tilted her head back to allow him more access, and he murmured his approval. Her hand still gripped his hair, almost painfully. He marveled at the feeling of her silky dress under his fingers, and she arched herself into his touch when he rubbed over her breast. He chuckled darkly and kept moving downward. Her breaths grew shallow and ragged when he reached the smooth skin of her thigh. Her free hand reached down to try to move his underneath her gown, and he grabbed it. He pinned it up above her head with a snarl.

She looked at him with parted lips, wildly beautiful, and he took her mouth again. He was just as demanding as before, but slower. Lazier. More teasing. When she'd submitted to his pace long enough, when she wasn't challenging him anymore, he moved his hand back down again. She kept hers above her while he worked his way down again, though he felt her trembling and needy. He slid his fingers up her thighs slowly, leaning back to watch her face. Her fingers curled, and she closed her eyes. He watched her bite her lip to keep herself from crying out. That was fine. He wasn't going to give her any choice.

He brushed over her lightly, just enough to confirm that she'd been telling the truth about what was under her dress, then removed it. At that she did cry out, in protest. Her eyes flew open, but he silenced her with a look. He drew himself up her body, rubbing himself along her in slow agony until his mouth reached her ear. He played his fingers up over her arm, still raised above her head, and waited until the other joined it. He lightly held them while he whispered to her.

"Later tonight, next week, our lifetimes, I will dedicate myself entirely to your pleasure. I am going to have you on every surface of this room and listen to those beautiful noises you make. We'll drink potions and have the most wonderful children in Thedas. I'll hold you while you sleep and won't get mad when you elbow me. We'll argue over what side of the bed we sleep on and how early is too early to wake the other person up. But right here, right now, I am going to take you, Elissa. I have waited far too long for you to be mine. And now you are. My wife. In my bed. Everything I want."

He used his body to shift her smooth dress up over her hips, rubbing against her deliberately. She smiled at him from the bed of her tousled hair. "As my husband commands," she said. Her voice was hot with desire, and it sent him over the edge. He entered her smoothly, finding her wet and ready. Not fighting him. Eager. He loved her with all of his heart.

As he rested inside of her briefly, feeling her surround him, she pressed her own lips to his ear. "For the record I like the left side of the bed." She laughed as he growled and kissed her neck hard enough to leave a mark. He moved inside of her, finally, roughly, and when he started to lose control she wrapped her legs around his back and let him. He put his hands on her shoulders and drove himself inside of her. _Mine_.

After he was spent she touched his cheek. "I love it when you're commanding. It's very attractive. Very royal." She hadn't found her own release, and her face was still dark with wanting. She rolled her hips lightly against him as she spoke.

He smiled again, softer. He felt more like himself. "Let's see what else I can get you to do for me tonight, then."


	22. Savoring

A year later, they'd never fallen asleep angry. They'd gone to bed fighting mad, spent days arguing over edicts and policies until everyone else left the room, but she never turned away, and he never pushed a choice on her. Their biggest disagreement by far was what to do about the growing mage issues throughout Thedas. He was in favor of stronger Templar control and more restrictions on the Circles who rebelled. She was more liberal, looking for a solution with enhanced mage freedoms. Whenever a report of a new flare-up crossed their desks, which was happening more and more frequently these days, they rehashed their points to exhaustion. But they never grew exhausted of the discussion or each other.

And even Teagan, the most frequent audience for their debates, had to agree that it was good for the kingdom. They sharpened their arguments to the finest points, but also learned to respect the other side through their love for the other. It made the decisions that were made moderate, understanding, and Ferelden avoided some of the problems that plagued other nations who took sides or didn't act at all. Not all of the problems. The Tower of Ishal was a scar that many in the country still bore.

But always, before they slept, they put aside their differences and curled into each other. Neither Alistair nor Elissa ever forgot that their days together were all the more precious that they might never have happened. They would end sooner than they wanted. Angry nights were a waste of the gift they'd given themselves.

* * *

><p>Eventually they knew they'd have to part from each other, for a time. The life of royalty involved separation. So far they'd restricted their wanderings to day trips, either together or separately, to ease the transition. They quickly learned each other's strengths outside of battle and knew where they were more use apart and when they needed to be a team. She excelled at the more dangerous diplomacy, as Zevran called it. When the time came for careful threats that would be believed or a hard guard that wouldn't be questioned, she had the heart for both. He was better at the soft face, the open hand, and most supplicants left his presence without realizing how little they'd won for how much they'd given.<p>

When it came to physical fights, they always worked best as a team. They were blade and shield together, switching roles as easily as they shifted their feet, and enterprising criminals learned to give Denerim a wide berth. She was never out of position again, and he never held back.

The Crows had cautiously treated with them, as Leliana predicted, and they went about in moderately less fear for their lives. Elissa was always wary. Zevran had given her a much clearer idea of the honor of assassins than he'd meant to in their year of travel, but no attacks came. Quietly they let the Crows operate more frequently in the kingdom without reprisals in an effort to gain some rapport. It seemed to work, and a modicum of trust grew between the guild and the royals. This was reflected in the generousness of the Antivan diplomats, who ceded a little more than they had previously when they dealt with Ferelden. Zevran had even taken a tentative trip to Antiva, openly, and though Elissa fretted over him the entire time he was gone, he came back safe and unmolested, except on his own terms. They had no illusions that they'd always be trustworthy, given the treacherous political game of their leadership, but it was a start.

Leliana was an occasional visitor, even somewhat of an agent for the Crown. Of course, her loyalty to the Divine came first, but their interests weren't unaligned. Alistair pressed for more cooperation with his sister who was also a Sister, and Elissa saw the wisdom in it. When Leliana was named the Left Hand, she got two notes of congratulations from them. The official one was effusive and proper. The hidden one said only _Left hands must be clever and sharp. Watch you don't cut yourself, Nightingale._ She showed up a month later and took great delight in demonstrating her new, left-handed dagger skills and unmarked skin.

And then someday came, and Alistair was leaving for the Free Marches. Trouble with mages, with Qunari, with everything, were starting to boil up in the city of Kirkwall. Ferelden was seen as a stable country, the voice of reason that might calm the waters, and they all agreed diplomats wouldn't be enough. Alistair's touch was needed, and so he had to go. Teagan would join him, and Zevran and Wynne would remain with her in Denerim. It wasn't perfect, and Alistair was especially jealous that Teagan's new wife would accompany them while he remained in solitude, but he bore it up as well as he could. Which was to say not well at all.

He sulked in their rooms the day before he left. They'd taken the day off of ruling and holed up together talking. Mostly talking. She tried to make him smile, and sometimes succeeded, but it was clear he was having more trouble with leaving than either of them had expected. "It seems cruel that I have to go now. Can't these bloody Qunari find some other place to park themselves threateningly?" he asked. He placed his hand on her stomach protectively, and she laid her hand over his.

"Think of it this way. If you go now, you'll miss all of the parts where I'm nauseated and get back just in time for the fun." He frowned, confused. "I'm told that certain parts of me will get a lot more enticing the farther along I get," she said and arched her back against the bed.

His eyes sparked interest, and he got marginally less grumpy. "That might be worth something. I guess. But I don't trust Zevran while I'm gone. He'll let you take far too many risks."

She sat up at that. "I'm pregnant, not broken. I can still do things." He leveled his eyes at her, and she flopped back. "Fine, I'll only do boring and safe things until you get back. But then we're going to go on a patrol together. I'm not letting you keep me cooped up in here like an invalid."

"Just remember who's going to be fetching and carrying for you when your feet are swollen and sore," he said. "Dutiful husbands have rights, too. And proud fathers. She's going to be the smartest royal baby in history, you know."

"She?" she said. "You think so?"

"Oh, definitely. A girl, beautiful and strong just like her mother."

"Let's just hope she's less interested in stable boys than her mother was, or you'll never get any sleep."

He looked at her in horror. "Why would you make me think about that? I guess this does give me more time to plan ahead. Perhaps some kind of dungeon." He furrowed his brow in mock thought, and she smacked him.

He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed her palm slowly, and she shivered. "That's another good reason for you to go now. I've already got the baby. You're no longer necessary to the process."

"I may not be necessary, but I can be extremely beneficial." He winked. Tears sprang to her eyes, and he sobered. He stretched out next to her and folded his arms around her tightly. He kissed a tear that slid down her cheek.

"I'm going to miss you," she said in a choked voice. She tried to laugh. "Our people confirmed Isabella is up there. Don't let her talk you into anything scandalous."

"Only you have ever been able to talk me into anything even close to scandalous," he said. She rolled toward him in the circle of his arms and kissed the corner of his mouth. He looked into her eyes, which reflected the fear in his own. "I won't do anything risky either. I'm coming back."

"I know," she said. "My husband is too good of a man to leave me alone." He wept at her faith in him, and when they kissed it wasn't goodbye but a promise that they would never have to say it. Whatever their end was, it would be theirs together. Sword and shield, left and right, soft and hard, head and heart, they were only truly whole together. He rode the next day with her watching from the battlements holding her hand to her lips and their future in her body. But she also traveled with him, nestled permanently inside his soul, and there was no greater joy in Thedas than that.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Here we are at the end! Thank you so, so, so much to all of the people who have read, followed, favorited, and especially reviewed this story. So many of you have been enormous helps to me, even more than you know, though a few may recognize some of their own clever ideas woven into the story. This was my first ever attempt in life at writing a romance - as you can see by the fact that there wasn't as much romance as I'd intended - and I struggled mightily with finishing this story. It got to the point in the middle where I wondered if I would be able to do it at all, but you all filled me with the purpose and drive I needed to get it done! There are things I love about it, things I would change if I could (including a truly embarrassing number of typos in that middle section where I was writing late into the night to get it out), and things that didn't work out quite as I intended. Still, I hope it was satisfying on some level for everyone who read. And if it was satisfying on every level, then you are more appreciated than you know!_

_Regardless, I'm happy to be here with you all now. This was my second long story on here, and it went much more smoothly than the first. I hope the idea fairy will strike me soon to get a third one started! As always, any and all feedback is welcome, especially constructive criticism. I'll also take story ideas if you have something rattling around that you want to read but would never write. Thanks again, and long live the King and Queen!_


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